


The Coding Conundrum

by Pixelfun20



Category: Hermitcraft RPF, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Basically I take the Watcher and Amnesia tropes and dial it up to 100, Developing Friendships, Gen, Humor, Kidnapping, Mind Games, Mind Manipulation, The Deep End, The Watchers - Freeform, This will flip between humor and angst so quickly sorry, hermitcraft season 7, some characters might be ooc, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:47:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 62,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24134566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pixelfun20/pseuds/Pixelfun20
Summary: One morning, early in Season 7, the world stutters. For fifteen seconds, everything stops, from the daylight cycle, to mobs, to even the players themselves.Afterwards, the Hermits wake up without any of their memories. Finding themselves in a strange world full of buildings and mechanics they don't understand, the Hermits must band together and figure out how to work as a team, exploring about the world around them and trying to get their memories back.But a mystery is looming in the shadows, and far away, in a castle floating in the Deep End, a plan is put in motion.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 659
Kudos: 1063





	1. Blackout

He groaned as He came back to consciousness. His face hurt.

After a few moments, in which He registered the state of the rest of his body, He took that back. His face hurt the most, but  _ everything _ hurt. 

With trembling, aching arms, He peeled himself off the ground, blinking against the harsh light. He’d been laying face-down, apparently, on some stone. And from how his left cheek and temple stung, He hadn’t meant to put himself there.

Wait. He blinked, trying to get the swirling lights around him to slow down as He rocked on his hands and knees. 

How did He get here?

Once He started thinking about it, the questions started flowing. How did He get here? Where was He? Why did everything hurt? 

Who was He?

He felt like He should have a name, but none came to mind when He tried to summon it. And  _ nothing _ came to mind when He tried to think of what had happened to get him here. 

His arms were starting to seriously shake from the effort of holding himself up. Luckily, his vision and vertigo were beginning to subside, and He was able to push himself into a sitting position. As his vision cleared, He realized He was sitting on a huge staircase, and by huge, He meant  _ huge _ . It rose at least a few hundred meters in the air, overlooking a jungle with several large buildings in the distance, their tops peeking over the treetops. It was a beautiful, clear day, with a slight breeze stinging his cheek.

And  _ man, _ now that he thought about it, his cheek stung. He hissed, hesitantly bringing up a hand to the offending part of his face. His fingertips came back red.

Oh. Head wounds… those were bad. He grimaced, trying to recall just how He knew that information, but couldn’t recall how. 

There was a red stain on the stone beside him, and it was scuffed, quite unlike the pristine condition of the rest of the steps. Perhaps He’d fallen down a step or two, and knocked himself out?

...And somehow lost all his memories in the process?

He shook his head. For a short while, He just sat there, letting the soreness in his bones settle as He tried to recall any memories prior to a few moments ago. Nothing came to mind. Eventually, He decided he needed to go find help once the blood from his wound started dripping off his chin. He stood up, shakily, and looked down at himself.

He was wearing a red sweater, and blue, shiny armored trousers and boots. Something was strapped around his shoulders and across his chest, and He reached behind him to find two shimmering wing-like things that fell down to his knees. He reached upwards, past the head wound, and his hands tangled themselves in hair. It was soft, and felt slightly wavy, with a few bangs falling over his forehead.

He looked behind him, trying to orient himself, and gasped. 

A giant castle loomed above him, built of stone and with giant wooden doors. If He thought the steps were big, the castle was even bigger. 

It looked  _ awesome. _

It was a huge build. Someone had to be responsible for it, right?

Yeah. Castle was the closest; He’d check there first.

Plan set, He stood up, swaying slightly on his feet, but his strength was returning. Slowly, He made his way up the steps and towards the giant wooden door. 

The fact that He didn’t have a name was  _ really _ bothering him right now. As He made his way up, stopping every few minutes to rest, He thought about that. For all he tried, He couldn’t remember his actual name, and He didn’t just want to keep referring to himself as  _ He _ forever.

He looked down at his red sweater. 

Hm. 

Well, until He could remember his name, Red would do, right? The red sweater he was wearing looked pretty cool, after all.

Alright, then. 

The newly-dubbed Red grinned, now almost at the castle, which was now looming so far above him he couldn’t see the top. He pushed himself up to the doors, which had two, human-sized doors in the middle. Red giggled, despite himself. He wasn’t sure how he would have opened those doors, or even how practical they were.

He turned the door’s handle, finding it unlocked, and opened it.

Red groaned. 

There was  _ nothing _ . The whole castle was just a false front!

His head throbbed with the motion, and he had to use his sweater’s sleeve to mop up some of the dripping blood. Yeah, he still needed help.

He looked back to the jungle. Well, he could see the buildings better, now! Silver linings, and all that. There was a huge monument off in the distance, four prongs holding up a green crystal. More distantly were at least a half-dozen zig-zag-ish pillars. Several more buildings peeked out over the horizon, a little too small or far away to really make out. Closest, though, was a house half-built in a cave.

Okay. New plan. Down the stairs—oh, there were some chests that he missed earlier, perhaps they had supplies?—through a small stretch of jungle, and towards the house, then the pillars.

There had to be  _ someone _ around here, right?

Hopefully. Red didn’t think he’d like being alone.

His wrist buzzed. It jolted painfully against his arm, and startled him so that he nearly fell back down the staircase. After slowing his racing heart, Red pulled up the sleeve of his jumper to find the source of the disturbance.

A silver, metallic bracelet was latched across his left arm, molded so perfectly it had to have been made for him. There was one button on it, and it was flashing blue.

Huh. Flashing button. Red had the urge to press it. So he pressed it.

A screen sprung up in front of him, catching him off guard once again. It was like a hologram, only more real. On the lower half was a keyboard. On the upper were words, lined up in neat little rows. He scanned the first line, and discovered, much to his delight and relief, that he could still read.

_ <GoodtimeswithScar> Anybody want to trade for gunpowder? _

_ <GoodtimeswithScar> Please. _

_ <Stressmonster101> Oh, what happened this time? _

_ <GoodtimeswithScar> Left the creeper farm running overnight on accident. And I need some supplies. _

_ <ImpulseSV> Lol. I could take some off your hands Scar. DM’ing you. _

_ <GoodtimeswithScar> :D _

_ <Stressmonster101> Do I want to know what you’re going to do with all that? _

_ <ImpulseSV> No. _

_ <Bdouble0100> No. _

_ <TangoTek> No. _

_ <Stressmonster101> ...Just don’t blow yourselves up again, you three. _

_ 1 NEW MESSAGE _

_ XisumaVoid has suffocated to death. _

Huh. What was this? A messaging system? Red had to admit, it was quite ingenious, this piece of tech, and the fact that people could talk across the world. Not only that, but it confirmed that there  _ were _ other people here, which was a huge relief. There were at least five people, though he wondered whether he was one of the people talking earlier or not.

His eyes fell on the last message, and winced. There was no name attached to the announcement, just a statement of death. If his bracelet was to be trusted, it had just happened. 

So the bracelet announced death, too? That sounded… morbid.

Well, there wasn’t anything he could do about that, as much as he wished otherwise. Red sighed, turned off the bracelet by pressing the button again (Yes! First try!), and began limping his way down the stairs. 

The sun had passed noonday by the time he made it to the ground, and his stomach and head and joints and  _ everything _ were protesting their existence by the end of it. The bracelet buzzed a few more times, announcing XisumaVoid suffocating to death a grand total of three times (Red guessed that this XisumaVoid could die more than once. Somehow. It made the messages a little less uncomfortable). Thankfully, there was a bed by the chests he’d discovered earlier, and he flopped down and passed out for a solid block of time before waking up to the rumbling of his stomach.

He looked up to the sky, finding the sun now halfway down to the horizon. His head wound had stopped bleeding, which was good, even though it still hurt like the dickens. That meant it was healing, right?

Well. Food first, help later.

He tore open the chests, shifting through the materials inside (oh, those chests were  _ definitely  _ bigger on the inside than the outside, but he was already juggling too many questions) to try and find food. In the first few, all he found were enormous amounts of stone and dirt and their variations, but scored some suspiciously yellow carrots in one of the smaller chests near the back. They had an odd metallic taste to them, but were very filling.

Red’s bracelet buzzed again once he’d finished gorging himself on carrots. Hm. Had XisumaVoid died again? He pressed the button.

_ XisumaVoid has suffocated to death. _

_ XisumaVoid has suffocated to death. _

_ 2 NEW MESSAGES _

_ <Stressmonster101> l;’ _

_ <Stressmonster101> uh _

Red tilted his head, confused, but then shrugged. Stressmonster101… they'd been one of the people talking in the old chat, with the messages he’d presumably read before losing his memory. He wondered why they were talking so incoherently, then shrugged it off once again. Injury first. Odd bracelet messages later.

There were some tools in the smaller chest, and Red figured it’d be best to pick them up, just in case. First out was a sword made of a silver-gray metal (iron? He thinks it might be iron and decides to roll with it). The handle was made of leather, but it was loose, and after a little bit of finagling Red took it off, exposing the wood beneath. He then tied a loop around the hilt of the sword, attaching it to one of the belt loops in his pants, which just barely peeked out from under the armored trousers. He repeated the same process on his other hip with a stone axe, then grabbed some of the leftover carrots and went on his way.

Now that he thought about it, Red was 65% sure all this stuff is his. If not, well, he was sure whoever owned it wouldn’t mind donating some supplies to a resident amnesiac. 

As he made his way to the house, Red’s bracelet buzzed a few more times. After a moment, he checked it again, watching as a wave of new messages came in.

_ 9 NEW MESSAGES _

_ <Stressmonster101> TESTING _

_ <Stressmonster101> Can anyone see this??? _

_ TangoTek was blown up by Creeper. _

_ <Stressmonster101> Please??? I am very confused! _

_ <Keralis1> hello _

_ <Stressmonster101> Hi? _

_ <GoodtimeswithScar> mcksl _

_ <GoodtimeswithScar> Sorry. Figuing this thing out. What going on? _

_ <Keralis1> i dont think im the right person to be asked that _

By the time “Keralis1” sent the last message, Red had reached the house. Turning off the bracelet and doing his best to ignore the vibrations, he knocked on the front door, then peeked through the window. When no one came into sight, he took that as an invitation and let himself in.

“Hello?” he called out, his voice cracking as he did so. Man, he hadn’t spoken since… well, at least since he’d woken up on the castle steps. “Uh, sorry if I’m uninvited I just need medical attention.” He paused for a moment, thinking. “Man, this’d be weird if this is actually my house.”

There was a squawk from inside the home, and Red started as a blue parrot flew towards him, landing on his shoulder. Surprised, Red jumped back, which caused the bird to lose its footing and fall off, flapping its wings to land gently on the ground and giving him a look that Red would’ve sworn was offended if it wasn’t a bird. 

“Uh, sorry,” he found himself saying, despite himself. The parrot squawked again, ruffling its feathers. There was a tag fastened loosely around its neck, and when the parrot didn’t protest, Red knelt down and looked at it.

“Professor Beak, huh?” he remarked, holding out a hand. Professor Beak hopped on, nipping under one of his wings as he did so. “Wonder who you belong to.”

All in all, the house was pretty nice. It was like a tunnel, with wooden walls and floor. There were a bunch of chests in the walls, and a small kitchenette, with a basin full of water.

“ _ Score! _ ” Red cheered under his breath, walking over to the water and setting down Professor Beak. There were some towels tossed over to the side, and he used them and the water to gently scrub off the gunk that had accumulated over his face and neck. There was a small mirror under the caldron, and he used it to inspect himself once he was done.

Red had light, wavy brown hair and dark brown eyes. His face was round, smooth except for his head wound. There was significant bruising alongside the left side of his face, surrounding a long scrape reaching from his cheekbone to his temple. He winced at that, but upon closer inspection realized that the wound was shallow and already scabbing over, making it look a lot worse than it really was.

“Well, that was something,” Red sighed as he went through some of the surrounding chests in vain to search for bandages. “Do you think whoever lives here would mind if I grabbed some stuff, Beak?”

Professor Beak chirped, tilting his head at him.

“Yeah, might hold off on that. I’ve already mucked up the kitchen.”

With that, he took a moment to rest, sitting on a barrel and turning on the bracelet.

_ 3 NEW MESSAGES _

_ <Stressmonster101> Gonna be honest, I have no idea what just happened. _

_ <GoodtimeswithScar> Have to agree w ya. I literally just woke up with no clue who I am. _

_ <TangoTek> Is there anyone who remembers anything past an hour ago?! _

Huh. Red didn’t know whether to be relieved or not that he wasn’t the only amnesiac on the block. On one hand, it meant the fall was probably an effect of losing his memories, not the cause. On the other, if  _ everyone _ had lost their memories… how were they supposed to get them back?

He thought about writing something, weighing whether he wanted to reveal himself or not. Names were associated with each message… perhaps his would come up, too?

Yeah. He might as well help out.

_ <Grian> Dunno. I think I took a nasty fall right before my memories start, though. _

“Grian,” Red said aloud, testing the name on his lips. It sounded nice enough, and wasn’t too long. Grian was a good name; he could refer to himself as that. Better than the temporary Red, at least.

_ <Stressmonster101> Oh my goodness! Are you alright? _

_ <Grian> I’m okay. Hurts like heck tho. _

_ <Tangotek> Well at least you didn’t die. Take it from me, THAT hurts. _

_ <GoodtimeswithScar> Oh, I hope that XisumaVoid fellow is doing alright. _

_ <Stressmonster101> I’m all alone where I am. Should we meet up and figure out what’s going on? _

_ <Grian> I have no clue where I am. Might be tricky. _

And where  _ was _ he? Grian stood up, letting Professor Beak hop onto his shoulder when he flew up to him. He was in a house that  _ might _ be his, near the edge of a jungle. He left the house again, walking through the small plaza to find the shallow lake he’d seen earlier. The pillars holding up the giant crystal were even bigger now, looming up into the sky. He checked the bracelet again.

_ 2 NEW MESSAGES _

_ <Stressmonster101> Okay, sound off. Who and where are you? I’m a jungle by a pink flower, under a rainbow. There’s a giant skull with a few flowers nearby. _

_ <Tangotek> No clue, and I’m in these huge, brightly colored buildings. Says “Toon Towers” in big letters across the front. I’m on a grassland.. _

Grian looked around again, and typed out his own response.

_ <Grian> I woke up on the staircase of this ridiculously huge, hollow castle, but I’ve moved into the jungle where there’s a house. I’m by a shallow lake with some pillars holding up a crystal. There’s a… snail? on the other side. _

_ <GoodtimeswithScar> REALLY? _

_ <GoodtimeswithScar> I’m in a snail! _

What? Grian’s eyes snapped back towards the snail just as a shout rang out across the trees. A small figure appeared out the side of the snail across the lake, quickly losing their balance and falling to the ground.

Grian laughed at that, hard enough that he had to make himself stop because it was hurting his sides.

_ <Grian> i canr belive i just witnessed thet _

_ <Keralis1> ? _

_ <Grian> He literally just threw himself out the snail and to the ground. Making my way over. _

_ <Tangotek> I really want to meet GoodtimeswithScar now. _

_ <Stressmonster101> Make sure they’re okay! I’m gonna climb a tree and see if I can find any of your landmarks. _

_ <Keralis1> I’m in a construction area with a lot of buildings. The tallest one is a crane. There’s an ocean off to one side. _

Making his way around the lake was a little tricky, with vines, trees, and bamboo littering the area, but Grian did his best to stay by the shore and got over well enough. The area by the snail had all been cleared, so once he shoved the last stalk of bamboo out of the way, he found himself nearly face-to-face with a man.

He was taller than him, and wore a long purple cloak that came down to his ankles. He had grey hair and beard, though Grian doubted it was naturally colored that way considering the roots were turning a dark brown. He had two long scars crossing his face, a dark gray shirt, and… no pants.

“Nice boxers,” Grian said by way of greeting. GoodtimeswithScar (or so he assumed), winced with a laugh, scratching his head as he plucked out a few clumps of dirt from the fall.

“Yeah… woke up without any and for the life of me I can’t find any in the snail. You’re Grian, right?”

“Yep! GoodtimeswithScar?” 

“That’s what the communicator’s telling me, anyways. Pleasure to re-meet you!”

Grian raised an eyebrow. “Re-meet?”

“C’mon, we’ve probably met at some point, right?”

“We  _ did  _ wake up rather close to each other.”

“Exactly!” GoodtimeswithScar clapped his hands with a grin. “Now, we gotta go find everyone else and get our memories back. I think Stressmonster101 is nearby.” But then he hesitated, smile flickering as his eyes landed to the left side of his face. “By the way, you doing good, bro?”

“Oh.” Grian raised up a hand, trying to cover his injury. “I said I fell, remember? Got scraped up in the process. Don’t worry, I’m doing a whole lot better now.”

“Woulda hated to see you before, then,” GoodtimeswithScar muttered under his breath, before raising his voice. “We’re getting new messages.” He raised his wrist, which sported the same bracelet Grian had, as the communicators vibrated in synchronization. 

Grain rolled his eyes, but turned on the bracelet.

_ 2 NEW MESSAGES _

_ <Cubfan135> Well it seems I’ve missed a lot. _

_ <Stressmonster101> Well, hello! Are you a fellow amnesiac? _

_ <Cubfan135> ...Yes. I’m not quite sure how. Does anyone know what’s going on? _

_ <GoodtimeswithScar> Nope! Welcome to the Amnesiacs Club, Cub! _

“‘Welcome to the Club, Cub,’” GoodtimeswithScar giggled under his breath.

“You have reached the pinnacle of comedy,” Grian replied dryly.

_ <TangoTek> Not gonna lie, that was terrible, Scar. _

_ <GoodtimeswithScar> D: _

_ <Grian> Any luck, Stressmonster101? _

_ <Stressmonster101> I see the crystal! On my way. _

_ <Stressmonster101> By the way, please just call me Stress. I have no clue why my name is so long. _

_ <GoodtimeswithScar> Yeah, Scar is good for me. _

“Why  _ are _ our names so long?” Scar said aloud. Grian shrugged.

“Maybe you all like having mouthfuls for names. I rather like my choice.”

Scar sent him a low look. Grian grinned.

“Whatever,” he finally replied, giving up. He jerked a finger to the snail. “Want to come over to my place? It’ll be easier to keep a lookout for Stress there.”

“As long as you have food. All I could find were these weird golden carrots.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Grian. If only you remembered what an inventory and elytra are.
> 
> -
> 
> Note: I don't know if I'll finish this story. I'm mostly playing with a concept right now and just having fun while knowing that my time for writing will drastically change once summer comes around and the quarantine ends. I published this story so that some other people might have fun with it, too. However, whatever work I do put into this story will (hopefully) be quality content.
> 
> Note #2: I just got into Hermitcraft a few weeks ago, so some characterizations might be off. Please let me know if I do anything wrong!
> 
> If I haven't scared you off, see you in Chapter 2: Whiteout, in which we learn what's happened to Xisuma, and watch Cleo be both bored and awesome, with a mystery perspective at the very end.


	2. Whiteout

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uh. This got a lot more attention than I thought it would. Thank you all! I respond to everyone's comments, and they always make my day. Whether it be constructive criticism or praise, I love to interact with you guys!
> 
> The next chapter will be a little longer in the making, mostly as I try to keep everyone in character and bs my way through describing everyone's bases and game mechanics.

His lungs burned.

Every breath hurt. Not terribly, but with every breath air scraped against his lungs, creating a low burning deep in his chest. The burning was inescapable, and no matter what he did, it was always there.

But he was getting used to it. There were more pressing issues to deal with, anyways.

Namely, the fact that he was currently suspended hundreds of meters in the air.

It was his fault, really. He’d made the mistake of not paying attention to his situation. He’d first woken up falling out of the sky; the only thing preventing him from dying upon impact being that he’d been over water. It’d taken him a good while to get his bearings and swim for the nearest shoreline, washing up with the tide and gasping for breath. He’d thought the helmet he was wearing was in the way of getting air. He’d been wrong.

He’d died there, on that beach.

And then he’d appeared in the tower, falling off a bed. Without his helmet, he’d died again.

And again.

All three times he’d died, he’d reappeared on the bed. The first two times, he’d fallen off the right side. The third, he went left, and nearly brained himself on the discarded helmet, which has somehow joined him on his resurrection journey. It’d gone back on after a few frantic moments, and he’d been able to breathe again.

He had to admit, that had been the most terrifying ten minutes he could remember. Which currently was only a few hours long, but still. His hands trembled when he thought about it.

He was currently inside a large building, suspended in the air by two giant towers on either side of him. The walls not facing the towers were absent, outlined in yellow and black wool, while the rest of the build was dark and bare, save for the bed and a few chests. The chests were filled, mostly with concrete, wool, and bamboo scaffolding, but there was some food and supplies, for which he was grateful.

Also, the sky was blue. Blue! He didn’t know why that fact kept on surprising him, but it did. With nothing else to do, he sat near the opening, and watched as the sun made its way across the sky. Seeing it felt so novel.

And it wasn’t like he had anything better to do, anyways.

* * *

Her memory had begun with the sun beating down on her face.

Even now, a few hours later, it’s still beating down on her face. 

She doesn’t know who—what?—or where she is, but it’s weird. She’s sitting on the edge of this giant expanse of snow, feet dangling off to dip in the ocean below. Her hair, fire orange, is nearly burning in the afternoon light, falling around her shoulders in waves and shielding her shoulders from the sun.

She’s bored.

And she has no idea about, well, _anything_.

At first, she’d entertained herself by reading the giant words that dotted the snowy platform. The task had taken her a solid hour and a half due to the sheer size of it, and her neck still ached a little bit. In the end the “Hermiton Herald” hadn’t really given her much to go off of, except that there had been a “Head Games” recently, and two people named Scar and Grian had won it. It sounded kind of morbid, to be honest. She didn't want to know what the participants had done to accumulate more points. 

But the novelty had eventually worn off, and her entertainment with it. There was only ocean as far as she could see beyond the platform, except for a shoreline to one side, too far off for her to feel comfortable trying to swim for it. There was also the frame of obsidian with the purple swirls inside it, which led to a land where the air felt heavy, the sky was a dark red, and there was hardly anything to see for kilometers around. 

Yeah, at least in the "real world," for lack of a better term, there was some variety. And it was cooler, if only by a little bit.

She sighed, raising a hand to pass through her hair. It felt like it was near burning in the sun, and her fingertips stung a few moments after she drew them away. 

The sun continued to swing down towards the horizon, and she watched as the squid and fish swam by. She fiddled with locks of her hair, then with her clothes.

Her hand fell around the metal bracelet sitting snugly on her left wrist. She hummed, looking at a round circle in the center of the bracelet, which she hadn’t noticed before. A button? She pressed down on it, and it clicked.

A screen sprung up in front of her, filled with messages from people whose names she didn’t recognize. Lines and lines of text filled the top half of the screen, and, ecstatic to finally have something _happening_ , she started reading. 

_56 NEW MESSAGES_

Sheesh. That was a lot. She decided to just start with reading what was on screen.

_ <GoodtimeswithScar> I see you, Stress! Look to your right! _

_ <GoodtimeswithScar> Your OTHER right! _

_ <Stressmonster101> That’s my left! _

_ <Stressmonster101> I see you too, by the way. _

_ <TangoTek> HA _

_ <Grian> We’re all USELESS. _

_ <Cubfan135> We’re amnesiacs, I think we’re supposed to be. _

She snickered at the conversation, the message from Cubfan135 popping up just as she finished reading the previous lines. So her bracelet was some sort of instant communicator? Why didn’t she find this earlier?!

_ <ZombieCleo> Hello! I seem to be in a situation. _

_ <GoodtimeswithScar> GASP _

_ <TangoTek> Hello! _

_ <Grian> Scar did you seriously just type out your gasp? _

_ <Keralis1> Hi ZombieCleo! Let me guess, you woke up a few hours ago without any memory? _

_ <ZombieCleo> I read some of the previous comments; I’m glad to know I’m not the only one in this situation! I’m stuck on a platform in the middle of an ocean. You have no idea how bored I’ve been. _

ZombieCleo paused for a moment, mulling about the name the communicator had given her. ZombieCleo, eh? A little on the long side, but she rather liked it. 

_ <Cubfan135> Well, it’s nice to have you, ZombieCleo! For reference, it seems that everyone in this world has lost their memory. We’re trying to find each other right now. Grian, Scar, and Stress are in a jungle, TangoTek is in some cartoon buildings, Keralis is in a construction area, and I am in a giant pyramid. _

_ <ZombieCleo> Well, you guys seem to be on top of things. I’m about to die of boredom. _

_ <Tangotek> rip _

_ <Goodtimeswithscar> Good news! Stress has joined us in Harvey! _

_ <ZombieCleo> Harvey? _

_ <Grian> A giant wooden snail. Long story. _

_ <GoodtimeswithScar> All good houses need a name, guys! _

_ <Keralis1> You’re weird, man. _

ZombieCleo—maybe she should just call herself Cleo? That sounded so much cleaner and she wasn’t really fond of calling herself _Zombie_ —laughed at the shenanigans. Finally, she had something to entertain herself with until she worked up the courage to explore that “other world” through the portal.

She was about to type out a reply when a hand grabbed her ankle.

Cleo _shrieked_ , the message screen vanishing as she tried to kick off the hand. But it only yanked on her ankle, painfully so, and before she could find purchase on the platform to stop it, it had pulled her into the ocean below. She hit the water with a _splash_ , just able to take a shallow breath before the waves swallowed her whole. The hand tightened against her skin, nails digging painfully into her ankle. Cleo looked down, peering through the water to see a blue-toned, half decomposed corpse with glowing, pale blue eyes gazing back up at her. The sight nearly had her cry out again, but then remembered that she was currently underwater. 

_Get off of me!_ She didn’t know what this thing was, but she wasn’t just going to let it drown her! Cleo curled downwards, twisting her body in such a way that she got a good kick in the corpse’s face. It wasn’t as strong as she’d like, in the water like this, but it loosened the corpse’s grip on her well enough. She jerked her ankle out of it’s grasp while she still could, kicking back up to the surface once she’d done so.

Cleo’s lungs burned with the lack of oxygen, and she could hear a deep gurgle behind her as the corpse gave chase to its escaped prey. Thankfully, she reached the surface before it caught her, gasping for air as she breached.

It didn’t last long. The corpse clawed at her thigh this time, dragging her into the water once again. This time, it took significant effort to not scream as it breached her skin, the salt immediately stinging the exposed skin. 

Cleo yanked up her foot, drawing her fist back to attack, and—

A glowing blue sword in her hand decapitated the corpse. The now-severed head and the rest of its body immediately slackened, sinking to the ocean floor far, far below. After a moment, it flashed red and disappeared with a _pop_.

Well, there was time to dwell on where the sword came from once she was on dry land. Cleo adjusted her grip on the weapon and kicked upwards, finally able to catch her breath. She looked around, catching sight of the platform a few meters away, and swam for it. The blocks hovered over the water, and after throwing the sword over the edge, Cleo pulled herself up and over, collapsing to the ground as she recovered from the ordeal.

She was sopping wet, her hair, long as it was, fell around her in clumps, her body was dripping water from the several dips and holes in her body (how had they gotten there? And why didn’t they hurt? She’d spent a good half hour wondering but couldn’t explain it), and her thigh was positively screaming. 

“Ow.” 

After a few minutes, Cleo sat up, pushing her hair out of her face as she did so. She pulled her injured leg towards her, inspecting the wound. It certainly didn’t look bad, just some shallow scratches. The water had washed out the excess blood, and it’d heal in no time. The sea salt seemed to be making things feel worse than they actually were.

Next order of business: there were living(?) corpses in the ocean. They looked roughly similar to her, if lacking in hair, more of their body, the glowing eyes, and the blue skin. Cleo hadn’t been expecting it, but for some reason she wasn’t really surprised. That thing… why had it attacked her? It hadn’t seemed too sentient when attacking her; if it really wanted to kill her it should have better reacted to her attacks. Similarity aside, she’d have to be careful.

Finally, she turned her attention to the sword, which glistened in the afternoon light, both from being coated in water and something else. It seemed to be made of pure diamond, and even from a few feet away she could see how sharp those edges were. No wonder she’d decapitated the corpse so easily.

Well, she had no clue where it came from, except that magic might play a part in it, but Cleo didn’t think she was one to look a gift horse in the mouth. She picked up the sword by the hilt and placed it by her hip, where it was easily accessible, and opened up the message screen.

_8 NEW MESSAGES_

_ <Cubfan135> I wonder how many other people are connected to this messaging system? _

_ <Stressmonster101> Dunno. It took ZombieCleo a few hours to figure out her communicator, so it could just be that the other’s haven’t found theirs yet. _

_ <Grian> Idk but mine vibrates every time I get a message. That’s kinda hard to ignore. _

_ <Keralis1> So does mine. _

_ <Cubfan135> Mine doesn’t _

_ <GoodtimeswithScar> Mine does. Perhaps it’s optional to the bracelets? _

_ <Stressmonster101> Maybe. What do you think, ZombieCleo? _

_ <Stressmonster101> ZombieCleo? Are you still on? _

_ <ZombieCleo> I had to leave for a bit. Had an unsavory encounter. _

_ <Keralis1> You okay? _

_ <ZombieCleo> A corpse came up out of the ocean and tried to drown me. Good news is that apparently I can summon swords. _

_ <GoodtimeswithScar> WOAH _

_ <Stressmonster101> A CORPSE?! _

_ <Grian> That’s so cool! _

_ <Cubfan135> How’d you do that? _

_ <ZombieCleo> I have no idea lol. Got a pretty cool sword out of it though. _

_ <Stressmonster101> nononono, let’s focus on the living corpses here. _

_ <ZombieCleo> There are corpses in the ocean man. Idk what to say besides that I’m staying away from the platform’s edge now. _

_ <Keralis1> I guess we should avoid swimming, then. _

Cleo chuckled, closing the screen to wring out her hair and clothes. She looked up, watching as the sun began to make its descent. The burning heat of the day was quickly beginning to fade as it went down, and she frowned, some memory tickling in the back of her mind. She tried to grasp it, tried to remember, but it flitted out of reach, leaving behind a weak desire to leave.

But where could she go? Through the portal?

Cleo looked over to the obsidian frame, filled with purple swirls and particles, and shivered.

_ <ZombieCleo> Btw has anyone else seen a weird purple portal framed with obsidian? _

_ <ZombieCleo> Asking for a friend. _

_ <Cubfan135> No, but I’ll admit I haven’t explored much yet. _

_ <Grian> Saw one on top of a tree. Can’t reach it, though. _

_ <Keralis1> There’s one in my area. Low-key freaky. I haven’t mustered up the courage to go in lol. _

_ <TangoTek> There’s a big one in one of my buildings, in its own room. _

_ <Stressmonster101> What are they? _

_ <ZombieCleo> I went in for a bit. It’s a giant bedrock plain, with a dark red sky. There’s no point of reference. I didn’t stay long. _

_ <GoodtimeswithScar> Scary. _

Cleo sighed, watching as the sun continued her descent. She had gotten here somehow, before losing her memory, she just had to figure out how. And she had a feeling that the portal had something to do with it.

And with the sun setting, she had a sinking feeling that she was running out of time.

* * *

Something was wrong.

Part of him expected to hear the gentle rush of the waves that surrounded his base. Another part of him strained to listen for the gentle hum of endrods above his chamber. Another part, a much smaller part, left the impression that he should be expecting something else.

But when he rode the waves of sleep up towards consciousness, he was only met with complete and utter silence. 

Grian snapped awake, the lack of sound jerking him out the peaceful sleep he’d been in. A thin, silky blanket fell off his shoulders and tangled in his limbs as he tried to compose himself. The only sound was that of his harsh breathing and the rustle of his clothes against the sheets.

He’d been here, a few times before. He’d hoped to never be back again.

He was sitting in a five by five bedrock box, completely devoid of anything except for a cot that barely fit him and the thin silk blanket. No entrance. No exit. Just bedrock and a bed. 

He untangled himself from the blanket, twisting his hand behind him as if he were reaching for something. Answering the motion, his inventory popped up, completely bare except for a quarter stack of golden carrots.

Shoot. Grian bit his lip, pulling the inventory back down, and tried to remember how he’d gotten here. Things were a little bit fuzzy, but he knew that he shouldn’t have done anything to deserve this.

“Uh, Exae?” He called out to the empty room, doing his best to control the waver in his voice. “I’m sorry, alright? Whatever I did, I’ll make it up to you!”

Silence.

Grian sighed. They were probably in one of their moods again. Exae was always difficult to predict, much unlike their companions. Probably he’d gotten too wistful for _then_ (but that was odd, he’d learned to shy away from even thinking of _then_ weeks ago), and they had gotten huffy about him not being grateful enough. Give them a few hours and he’d be released.

If that were true. He wasn’t sure. Maybe he and Macan had fought. Maybe he’d failed in his lessons. Maybe maybe maybe.

Losing bits of his memory like this was honestly growing to be almost expected. Enough so that he was surprised he had forgotten this much at all. He’d gotten better at his lessons, better at fortifying his mind from prying eyes, that the blanks in his memory had grown short and further in between. 

But then again, Exae was much stronger than they seemed. Perhaps they had been holding back on him, before. 

Grian sighed, sitting down at the edge of his bed. With nothing better to do, he grabbed a golden carrot from his inventory and bit down, thoroughly exasperated. When it came to Exae, he never knew what to think. Even after living with them for so long, he never knew when they would be kind or harsh to him.

Watchers were such fickle beings. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, there are indeed two different Grians.


	3. Nightfall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ocean may be dangerous, but the hermits are about to discover that night is even worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for minor descriptions of wounds and blood. I also bs'ed a good part of this, so sorry.

“Aw, I wish I could see the sunset. I bet it looks beautiful from here.”

Grian looked up from his stew at his companion’s words, glancing out the westward-facing window as he did so. Sure enough, he could see the sky beginning to erupt into a fountain of yellows, oranges, and the occasional dash of pink as the sun dipped below the horizon. Sadly, the colors were all he could see, as the towering jungle trees prevented them from seeing anything.

Oh, well. He shrugged as Stress sighed, eyes still trained on the window. Scar just hummed, thoroughly engrossed in some journal he’d found in the workbench they were currently using as a table.

Grian was quickly finding that Stressmonster101 was just as friendly and kind in real life as she was in chat. A young woman with chin-length brown hair, she’d arrived in the same armor and wings Grian had woken up in (he’d taken off the wings after meeting Scar, finding them a bit cumbersome, and laid them by the door), but sported a long pink coat that fell around her trousers and a white shirt. She’d taken quite well to their situation, and had even found the stew they were currently eating stashed away in the literal mass of chests outside, a monumental task both Grian and Scar had avoided undertaking. 

Seriously, who kept chests full of stuff right out in the open and so disorganized? Scar, probably, since he’d woken up here and from his attire Grian _really_ wouldn’t put it past him, but they couldn’t know for sure because of the whole amnesia thing. Either way, it was ridiculous.

But now the sun was setting. Grian didn’t feel too tired yet, so sleep wouldn’t be an option for the next few hours, but he wasn’t sure what he wanted to do. Part of him wanted to explore the village built below and into the giant trees, but without daylight the place was beginning to look a little creepy, devoid of life as it was. 

“Alrighty, then!” Stress picked up her now-empty bowl, setting it down on a counter. She clapped her hands, looking right at Grian. “We gotta do something about that head wound of yours, love. Have you seen anything medicine related here, Scar?” 

“No,” Scar hummed, giving up on eating with a spoon and just slurping from the bowl itself. “But I found some scissors and a razor. I’m shaving this beard.”

“Why?” 

Scar made a face, poking at the hair. “It just feels _weird_. And it gets in the way when I eat. The beard’s gotta go.”

“Poor past you,” Grian chuckled. “And he went to all the effort to dye it, too.”

“I have no idea why. And since I don’t know if my reasoning for having this beard is good, I’m going with my instincts and chopping it off.”

“As long as you don’t cut yourself,” Stress hummed, standing up and lightly knocking Grian on the right side of his head. “I already have to tend to this one.”

“I’m fine!” Grian protested, leaning away from her. “I told you, it only stings a little.”

Stress folded her arms and raised an eyebrow. “Sir, the entire left side of your face is turning purple and I wouldn’t be surprised if your left side is, too. You hit yourself hard and I need to make sure you don’t infect that cut of yours.”

“You know how to do that?” Scar questioned, almost incredulous. Stress blushed slightly, and shrugged.

“I just know,” she admitted. “I mean, I know head wounds are bad, and I know I got to clean and heal open wounds to prevent infection, but I’m not sure how.”

“Leftover information from the memory wipe?” Grian guessed, finishing off his own stew. 

“Perhaps. Now come on, you and I are going to look through that cancerous mess of a storage system.”

“Aw, _no_. Have you seen that thing? That’ll take us forever and we don’t even know if what you want is in there!”

“Then we better get started, love!” Stress chirped, much too happy about the coming chore. Grian groaned, standing up, and Scar laughed at him.

Stress opened up the door for the snail, letting in the cool nighttime air as she descended the ladder. Grian sighed, waved goodbye to Scar (who was already heading over to get that razor), and went down after her. He winced as he raised his left arm over his head, the muscles stretching in such a way that had his body very loudly complaining. He shook his head and did his best to ignore the pain, and instead turned his attention to his surroundings. 

If it weren’t for the wall of chests right in front of him, Grian would’ve thought that this place was some sort of jungle paradise. The air was cool, but not so much so that it was uncomfortable, and the village a few paces away was beautiful. As he looked closer, Grian realized it was covered in lanterns that he hadn’t seen earlier, when it was brighter. Now, they cast a golden glow around the plaza, with a mass of blue glass shaped into a fountain in the center.

“Oh, this looks even more gorgeous at night!” Stress exclaimed, putting a hand over her heart. “This must’ve taken forever to build! Oh, we’re going to have to explore it at some point.” 

“I’m going to hold you up on that.”

“Great!” Stress giggled, then gestured to two of the chests nearest to them. “Now, I’ve already checked those. Choose a different one and get to work!”

With an exaggerated groan, Grian picked one of the smaller chests, while Stress continued looking through the giant wall. The chest he’d chosen was full of different kinds of wood, with a few fence posts. The next one was filled with some lanterns and dirt. The next one had dirt. And more dirt. Then some leaves ( they were surprisingly well preserved) and a few shards of colored glass.

Five minutes in and he was bored.

“Look, Stress, I’ll be fine,” he grumbled, plopping down on the ground. The grass was cool under his feet, and as the sun sent out its last throes of light, he took a moment to let the sensation of his first sunset wash over him. There was a slight breeze, and it brushed against his face, cooling the heat of his bruises.

“Hm, no,” his companion hummed, drawing Grian out of his thoughts. She’d climbed up to the top row of chests, pushing herself up with a huff and peering inside. “You aren’t fooling me.”

“I’m not trying to fool you.”

Stress didn’t reply to that, letting out a triumphant shout as she lifted up one of her hands, showing off a small white case. Grian rolled his eyes at her, returning to watch the sky, and she giggled.

Then there was a dull _thunk_ , and the giggling stopped.

Grian’s eyes snapped upwards, catching sight of Stress just in time to watch her drop the white case, hand slowly reaching downwards toward the arrow now protruding from her gut. For a moment, she just hung there.

Then, with a small “oh,” she fell.

“Stress!” Grian cried out, lunging forwards. But he was a split second too slow, and she crashed into the ground with a sickening _thud,_ striking the ground head first. He reached her a moment later, turning her over so that the arrow faced upwards and not into the ground. It had struck her towards the right side of her torso, around halfway between her chest and hip. Her white shirt was quickly turning red.

“Thhhhat’s not good,” Stress slurred, eyelids fluttering. 

“Uh, I don’t know what to do!” Grian ran a hand through his hair. Where had that arrow even come from?! Was someone attacking? How do you treat arrow wounds? “Scar!” He shouted, at the top of his lungs.

“Just gimme a sec,” Stress was still muttering, half-lucid. “Gotta stop the trees from spinnin’.”

Another arrow shot through the air, and on instinct, Grian ducked, and it hit the chest behind him. He huddled down behind the chests, peeking through the cracks. Just inside the untamed part of the jungle, a skeleton, holding a bow and arrow, was aiming in his direction. Behind it, Grian could just make out the shadows of human-shaped figures in the trees, moving in decidedly inhuman ways. If he listened hard enough, he thought he could hear a deep, guttural moaning.

The skeleton’s head jerked towards the crevice he was spying through, and aimed the bow at him. Grian let out an “eep!” and ducked down the safety. 

Suddenly, he remembered the sword and axe hanging off his hips. He had almost forgotten about them, having kept them on through dinner and meeting Stress. Suddenly their existence in the chest was a lot more sensible. Hurriedly, he untied the weapons, testing the sword’s weight in his hands and finding it nearly perfectly fit to his palms.

“Grian!” He looked up to see Scar throw open the door to Harvey (was he really going to call the snail that? He guessed so). If it weren’t under the circumstances, he would’ve laughed at the sight—Scar had taken off his robe, his beard was half-shaved and the rest of his face was covered in shaving cream. 

“Archer!” He cried out to the other man, and Scar blinked, confused, before an arrow missed his face by a few inches and sailed out to the lake. He yelped in surprise, almost falling out of the snail for the second time that day. 

Grian considered the weapon in his hands, then glanced over to the skeleton, only a few meters away. It was moving slowly, now that he thought about it. 

“Scar, the skeleton shot Stress!” He called out as the other man slid down the ladder and made a dash for them, arms over his head. Once he’d made it, he passed the axe to Scar. “Here. I’m gonna see if I can take it out.”

“What? Where did that thing even come from?!”

“That’s a question for later. Watch over Stress!”

“Grian, wait—”

“I do not wait!”

With that, Grian jumped up to his feet ( _ow_ ), raised his sword, and charged the skeleton.

He realized a few seconds too late that he didn’t know what his plan of attack was, but oh well, it was too late to turn back now. The skeleton took a few seconds to register his approach, and by then he was upon it. Grian swiped at its neck joint ( _ow,_ his shoulder especially didn’t like that), and with a little effort, decapitated it.

“Yes!” He cheered, throwing his hands in the air.

Then he heard a low moaning behind him. Grian blinked in surprise, then remembered the figures he’d seen earlier. Slowly, he turned around, and for a moment, froze. 

“The corpses can leave the ocean! The corpses can leave the ocean!” He screamed, blindly swiping upwards and cutting off the arm of one the three half-decomposed corpses that were entirely too close for comfort. It staggered for a moment, then moaned again, reaching out to him with its good hand. Grian yelped, ducking away from a second corpse and making a break for Harvey. Scar was already halfway up the ladder, Stress struggling upwards just above him. 

Grian jumped up and grabbed at the rungs of the ladder, climbing as fast as he could until he hit Scar’s feet. The corpses followed at a much slower pace, tumbling over their feet. In the distance, though, he could see some kind of green mottled… thing… ambling towards them. It had four stubbly feet, and dark, void-like eyes that seemed to pierce into his soul. He turned away, inching upwards as Scar got into Harvey, following in himself a moment later. He slammed the door shut behind him, locking it soon after.

The moaning stopped at the base of the ladder, and Grian looked down through the door’s openings, watching as the corpses scrabbled at the rungs of the ladder, reaching upwards but lacking the dexterity or limbs to climb.

“Well, looks like the corpses aren’t smart enough to climb a ladder,” he commented, drawing away with a breath of relief. Scar was helping Stress sit down in a chair, the arrow still protruding from her side. However, she seemed to have regained full consciousness, shooting a painful smile over at Grian.

“Ah, I jinxed myself,” she said with a gasp, settling into the chair. “Now I’m my own patient.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of this,” Scar said, and Grian realized he was holding the white first aid kit Stress had dropped earlier. He wanted to hug the man for remembering it, but held himself back as his shoulder flared painfully, adrenaline fading as he sat down.

Stress giggled softly. “You look so ridiculous, Scar.”

“Eh, I’ll finish later. Gotta keep an eye on you two now.”

“Hey, _I_ was the one who killed the skeleton,” Grian put in, leaning back in an attempt to soothe his aching muscles. There was a click, then a rustling, and he looked up to see Scar opening the box, pulling out a strip of gauze and some vials of colored liquid.

“Huh, uhh…” Scar muttered unintelligibly to himself, turning the vials around and looking at them more closely.

Grian’s wrist vibrated, and he pulled his attention away from Scar and Stress, turning on his bracelet.

_7 NEW MESSAGES_

_ <TangoTek> Uh, guys? Remember that thing that blew me up? The Creeper? I’m seeing more of them outside. _

_ <Cubfan135> The corpses can leave the ocean! _

_ <Keralis1> I have some wandering outside, but I’m safe in one of my buildings rn. They seem to be too stupid to open doors. _

_ <TangoTek> Warning! Creepers blow you up if you get close to them! They’re these mottled green… things with four small legs and no arms. _

_ <Cubfan135> I see one. Sheesh, they’re not good on the eyes. _

_ <ZombieCleo> HLEPEHKEPEHLPEHELP _

_ <Keralis1> ZombieCleo?! U okay?! _

_ <Grian> ZombieCleo??? _

_ <TangoTek> Well, at least death isn’t permanent… _

_ <Cubfan135> That’s dark, man _

_ <TangoTek> What else can we do? I mean we could be miles away from each other for all we know. _

_ <Cubfan135> Still, a little dark _

_ <Keralis1> Grian, how are you, Stress and Scar? We haven’t heard from you guys for a while. _

_ <Grian> Stress and I were outside when night fell _

_ <Cubfan135> Are you okay? _

_ <Grian> Stress got shot but we found a first aid kit. Scar’s trying to figure it out rn _

Speaking of the devil, a hiss from Stress had Grian turning off the bracelet and standing up ( _ow_ ) to see what was going on. 

Scar had some creased paper balanced on his knees, which had some sort of writing on it that Grian couldn’t decipher from his distance. He was biting his lower lip, all attention on the razor he was using to cut off the section of Stress’ shirt attached to the arrow. Stress herself seemed to be in quite a bit of pain, eyes concentrated up on the ceiling.

“Hey Stress,” Grian said, figuring it was best he leave Scar to his rather delicate work. “You doin’ good?”

“Peachy,” she replied, a smile flickering across her face before she gasped.

“Sorry!” Scar quickly apologised, adjusting his grip on the razor. “Grian, do you think you can help out a bit?”

“Yeah, what do you need me to do?”

“I found this paper in the kit,” he said, nodding to the unfolded paper on his lap. “It has a bunch of notes on it about wounds. Turns out arrow wounds are pretty common, ya know? I think I can fix this, but that means taking out the arrow.”

“Who would have thought?” Stress bit out. “Man, I feel like an idiot.”

“Eh, if anyone should feel bad, it’s me,” Grian replied. “Who could have predicted bow-wielding skeletons coming out at night? What do you need me to do, Scar?”

“Just a sec.” Scar gave one final tug, and the bloody piece of fabric fell away. “Stress, I’m going to have to move you to the floor and lift up your shirt a bit to get out the arrow. Are you alright with that?”

“Yeah, duh,” she replied, waving a hand. “Let’s get this over with.”

Scar stepped forwards, taking one arm over his shoulder. Grian took that as his cue to do the same, and with a silent count to three, they lifted her up and to the side, swiftly getting her down on the wooden flooring. Stress bit her lip though the movement, but other than that kept her reactions to minimum. Scar grabbed one of the colored vials he’d been examining, uncorking it and setting it off to the side. He and Grian then worked together to roll up the remainder of Stress’ shirt up to her stomach, fully exposing the wound.

Grian couldn’t help but wince. Stress hadn’t bled too much yet, but suddenly he remembered how he felt after waking up and empathized with her pain, if only a bit.

“Okay. I got this,” Scar said, more to himself than anything. He glanced at the paper, then grabbed the roll of gauze, tearing off a large chunk and folding it so it was around an inch thick. He handed it to Grian, who took it with a little confusion. His hands were shaking. “Okay, I’m going to have to take out the arrow, now. Grian, once I do it, you’ll need to apply pressure with the gauze to stop the bleeding.” 

“Doesn’t sound too hard,” Grian replied, trying his best to sound flippant. He shuffled downwards, now directly across from Scar, to most easily reach the wound.

“Hopefully this paper is right,” Stress muttered, taking in a deep breath as her gaze focused back on the ceiling. “Count me down.”

Scar nodded mutely. He reached for the arrow, but stopped when he saw how badly his hands were shaking. Grian didn’t miss the hesitation.

“Hey,” he said, looking up to meet Scar’s gaze. “You’re doing great. Stress and I trust you, alright? Everything’s going to be okay. And even if it doesn’t, we respawn, remember?”

Scar blinked, and Grian figured he must have forgotten that mechanic in the chaos of the last fifteen minutes. He took a few deep breaths, then reached for the arrow again, this time with more steady hands. 

“I’m going to do it,” he announced firmly, keeping his eyes trained on the arrow. “Ready?”

“Yep,” Stress breathed, and Grian nodded.

“Three… two… one!”

Scar yanked upwards, and Stress let out a cry as the arrow came out with a tear. Hardly a second later, Grian pressed down with the gauze, trying to ignore how the wound dipped in his hands. Stress flinched violently, then breathed in short gasps as Scar hurriedly grabbed the vial he’d opened earlier, rushing back to Grian and pulling back the gauze just enough that he could pour a few drops into the wound.

“Okay, all done.” He announced with a sigh, setting down the bottle. “If what I read was right, this—” he tapped the bottle. “Is what’s called a ‘healing potion.’ It says in 30 seconds it’ll help heal the wound. I dunno if it means fully or not.”

“Well, I’m feeling better already,” Stress said, smiling a bit as some of the tension receded from her expression. “It feels a little weird, but the pain’s going away. Good job, Scar.”

“Oh thank goodness.” Scar sighed in relief, shoulders slumping. “Please never make me do that again.”

“Hopefully I can keep that promise. Can you hand me that paper you found?” 

Scar passed the requested item over to her, and Stress held it up, examining it. As she did so, Grian peeled off the gauze, and blinked in surprise. The arrow wound was nearly gone, only a decent-sized cut where there had previously been a large puncture, and even that was knitting itself together.

“Wow, that stuff’s the real thing,” he said. “Can I try some of that potion, Scar?”

Silently, Scar tore off another section of gauze, pouring some of the potion into it and handing it over to Grian. He pressed the bandages to the cut on his face, and let out a sigh of relief. The liquid felt comfortingly warm against his skin, and the ache that had been plaguing him since waking up started to recede.

Stress grunted, sitting up on her own, and Grian glanced down to see that her wound was now practically gone. Stress pulled her shirt back down once she was up, frowning at the large hole now in the lower right side. 

“I found some extra shirts if you want to use one,” Scar offered. “They might be a bit big, though.”

“I’ll be okay for now,” she replied. “Is the potion helping you, Grian?”

“ _Y_ _es_ ,” he sighed, taking off the gauze. He contorted his face, and upon not feeling anything besides a lingering stiffness, took it off, reapplied some potion, and slapped it on his shoulder. Stress giggled, returning her attention to the notes.

“Uh, Gri, I think you should check your messages,” Scar put in. He’d turned on his bracelet, and was wincing at the words flashing across the screen.

Oh, shoot. He’d totally forgotten that he’d been texting earlier. Hurriedly, Grian turned on his bracelet and started reading.

_10 NEW MESSAGES_

_ <ZombieCleo> I’m fine now. Sorry if I freaked y’all out. _

_ <Cubfan135> What happened, ZombieCleo? You alright? _

_ <ZombieCleo> These monsters started appearing all over the platform once night fell. Skeletons, corpses, these green-mottled beasts. I’m glad I have my sword or else I would’ve been mincemeat. _

_ <Keralis1> Are you safe? _

_ <ZombieCleo> Yeah, I went through the portal I told you about earlier. Turns out the monsters can’t or won’t follow me through. Not sure if it’s a good sign or not. _

_ <TangoTek> Try and keep the portal in sight. We don’t want you getting lost in a place like that! _

_ <ZombieCleo> Oh, I’m not leaving. Trust me. _

_ <Keralis1> Grian, we haven’t heard from you in a while. Are Stress and Scar alright? _

_ <Keralis1> Grian? _

_ <TangoTek> Dude, you alright? _

_ <Grian> I’m fine! Sorry, guys, Scar needed some help. _

_ <GoodtimeswithScar> Stress is good too :). We got the arrow out. _

_ <Keralis1> That’s a relief. I’m getting too many scares tonight. _

_Docm77 was shot by Skeleton_

_ <Keralis1> I jinxed it. _

_ <Grian> Who’s Docm77? _

_ <Cubfan135> Probably another person in the world. I’m not sure what we can do until they figure out the messaging system. _

_ <TangoTek> Hey guys, I’m gonna go to bed now that I know you’re all okay. I’m exhausted. _

_ <GoodtimeswithScar> Bye, Tango! See ya in the morning. _

“Scar.” Stress’ words had both men turning to her. She folded the paper she’d been reading up, and put it in her pocket. “Don’t you think you ought to finish shaving?”

Scar blinked in complete surprise, hand going up to his cream-matted, half shaved beard, and Grian burst into laughter.

“I-I forgot about that,” he muttered, quickly turning red. Stress just laughed, handing him back his razor, and Scar was off, climbing to the upper floor to make himself look presentable. Grian and Stress shared a look as he left, and redoubled in their amusement.

_ <Cubfan135> Good news, all! I’ve found some maps, and it looks like they cover a large portion of the world. I’m going to sign off for a bit and see if I can figure out where everyone is. _

_ <Stressmonster101> :D Good luck Cubfan! _

_ <Keralis1> Glad to see you back in chat, Stress. _

_ <Stressmonster101> Glad to be back! _

Grian yawned, suddenly feeling quite tired as he removed the gauze from his shoulder. He rolled it experimentally, and to his delight found that he could do so with ease.

“I think I’m gonna go to bed as well,” Stress announced. “See what Cub figures out in the morning. You should probably sleep, too”

“Yeah, I don’t think my body is happy with what it went through today.”

“Really? I never would have guessed.”

“You know what? Good night.”


	4. Midnight

They left him in the box for a long, long time.

Was it longer than he’d been in here before? Grian wasn’t sure, his internal clock had always been terrible, but he had a feeling that he was definitely experiencing one of his longer stays.

He spent his time thinking, arranging his memories so they made more sense. He dozed for a while, ate a few more carrots when he got hungry. He realized that he’d been changed from his most recent memory, now in a black long-sleeved shirt and soft, light purple pants instead of his usual purple shirt and lavender slacks. His cloak and mask were absent, which was honestly confusing, considering how strict the Watchers were with him wearing them. Something else felt… off, but for the life of him Grian couldn’t figure out what it was, so he was left with it tickling in the back of his mind. 

He counted the streaks of gray in the bedrock. He played with the frayed ends of his blanket. He even called out to Exae a few more times, to no avail. He was bored.

He was trying to doze again when he heard the tell-tale _whooshing_ sound that signalled freedom. His eyes snapped open, and he shot up to see who had entered.

No door had appeared, but then again, Watchers needed no doors. Instead, a figure seemed to mold out of the shadows in the corner of the room. They had no discernable gender, and stood at just over seven feet tall, with neck-length, pure white hair that curled at the ends, floating around them in a halo. Their skin was pale and tinted lavender, but darkened to black towards their clawed, too-long fingers. Two large, dark purple wings settled behind a long, flowing purple cloak, clasped at the shoulder. What really drew his attention, though, was their mask. It was off-white, with the Watcher symbol (a broken outline of a square, with two opposite corners broken off from the outline) emblazoned on the front. It wrapped around to cover the ears, drooping down from there to touch the neck. 

Grian hurriedly got off the bed and knelt, body falling into the distinctive salute that had become second nature to him by now. He tucked his left arm into his body, and raised the index and middle fingers of his right hand to touch a spot just a few inches shy of his left shoulder, where his cloak’s clasp would be if he were wearing it.

“Onah,” he greeted, suddenly nervous. Waking up in the bedrock cage without memory was bad. Being left for so long was an even worse sign. Onah being the one to fetch him? That had never happened before, and Grian doubted the reasons for it were good.

“Xelqua,” Onah said, and there was some emotion in their voice that he couldn’t place. “You live to serve, do you not?”

Something flashed behind his eyes, a vision of a base sitting in an ocean, but he instantly willed it away. His memories were behaving oddly today, and in his current situation he couldn’t afford that.

“There is no doubt of that,” he replied instead, trying to ignore how dry his mouth felt. 

“Hm.” Onah sniffed disdainfully, and walked forwards. Grian felt his blood roar in his ears when he felt a clawed hand cup his face, large enough that their palm touched his forehead and their nails grazed the back of his neck. “Somehow, I find that hard to believe.” The hand fell away, but Grian’s anxiety did not fade with it. He had done something bad. Really bad.

“I… do not understand, Onah,” he dared, eyes darting to the ground as he spoke. He dared not move from his salute. “My memory is weak.”

There was a long pause. Grian held his breath.

“...I see,” Onah finally said, a lilt to their voice. “That is good to hear, my ᓵ⍑╎ꖎ↸, my Xelqua.”

Grian had to clench all his muscles to combat the wave of relief that came once he heard the Galactic endearment. Onah so rarely claimed him as such a thing; him admitting his amnesia had put them in a very good mood, though for the life of him he couldn’t figure out _why ._ Onah, or their companions, had never cared for the integrity of his memory before. Why start now?

But Watchers were fickle beings, and he was rarely able to find answers to questions they didn't want answered. Instead, as Onah waved at him, he stood, keeping his eyes downward but dropping the salute, and followed them to the corner of the room. Onah placed a hand on his shoulder, and Grian closed his eyes as the familiar wave of _cold_ washed over him, seeping down into his bones and the very code of his being. It stung more than usual, probably because of the bedrock, and the cool air of the castle felt blistering once it was over.

Grian blinked open his eyes, finding himself in the lone hallway that made up the West Tower. There were no doors (Watchers did not need doors); just a lone hallway with a raised roof made of a combination of obsidian, purpur, and endstone bricks. He took in a long breath, lungs straining for a moment in the thin air, as Onah stepped forwards, hair whispering around in that halo of theirs.

There was no verbal command, but none was needed. Grian followed a few paces behind Onah, head bowed and hands clasped behind his back. The burning cold from leaving his cell faded as he walked, replaced by a chill that was usually displaced by the warm folds of his cloak.

He was missing his cloak. The realization struck him by surprise, considering how much he’d hated it before. Who would’ve thought?

They left the hallway, making several turns and going up a staircase. Grian realized where they were going once they left the West Wing, and he bit his bottom lip, trying to calm the whirlpool of thought and memories passing in his mind’s eye.

Onah stopped at the end of the last hallway leading them to their destination. Grian paused with them, keeping his eyes trained on the floor and trying to ignore how he could _feel_ their gaze on him.

“Look up, Xelqua,” they said, and Grian looked up into that dispassionate white mask. “You worry.”

“I don’t understand,” he replied. “I don’t know what I have done to deserve such treatment.”

Onah sniffed, and then spoke again. “You have committed a grave offense, Xelqua. Exae had claimed you, cared for you, and in the end you gave them nothing but abandonment.”

Grian’s breath caught in his throat, the memories whirring in his mind. He thought of the small chamber in the South Wing he’d been given, of the small message blinking in a cobbled-together communicator. He’d been so _careful_ , he’d never thought of the message or even _then_ when in their presence, how could they have found him—

“ᓵ⍑╎ꖎ↸, we are Watchers. We see all.”

But they _didn’t_ , or Xisuma’s message never would have—

“Xelqua, stop that train of thought immediately.”

And, instinctively, he did. Onah’s voice softened as they continued.

“Oh, ᓵ⍑╎ꖎ↸. You must understand that I am the only one sympathetic to your situation. Exae and Macan were very angry with your escape, and they will not be as kind to you as I have been. You must learn to live and thrive here, and I know you can if only you don’t fight it so. Only then will Exae be happy.”

Of course. Now Onah’s actions made sense. Exae was the only one here who mattered, after all.

He nodded, burying the thoughts of his communicator and _then_ and the word _escape_ (he’d done it, he’d gotten away long enough for Onah to consider it an _escape_ ). Onah seemed satisfied with the results, turning with a swish of the cloak to the archway in the center of the hallway. Grian sucked in his breath, stilling his expression as best he could (which wasn’t very good, but oh it was so difficult to not think), and followed them.

The Grand Hall was just as he remembered it. It was the biggest room in The Castle, taking up most of the Central Wing. Long, sloping arches of obsidian rose a good twenty meters in the air, holding up a slanted roof of endstone brick. The walls were covered in glass mosaics, depicting the various exploits and achievements the Watchers had made over the years. As they walked forwards, Grian’s eyes flickered furtively towards the seventh mosaic on the left, where a stylized Exae reached down to a much smaller figure clad in green and white. Him.

(The colors felt off. He didn’t know why.)

And, centered on the back wall, were three bedrock thrones.

It wasn’t your usual bedrock, like the ugly gray, white, and black-mottled stone that had lined his cage. This bedrock shimmered, the colors blending together if you didn’t look hard enough, blurring into a silver that cast slight shadows on the wall behind it. The throne in the center had a base made of obsidian, the one on the right a rich brown soil (never dirt, nevernevernever dirt he’d learned his lesson), and the left hard-packed ice.

The right and center thrones were occupied. As Onah went to take their place on their throne based on ice, Grian knelt and fell back into his salute, risking a glance at the two Watchers sitting there as he did so.

They hadn’t changed, from what his brief look gave him. Macan still sat on their soil-based throne, and still wore their hair long, the foremost strands pulled away from their face and tied in the back. Unlike the gentle curves of Onah’s mask, theirs was all jagged lines pointed away from where their eyes would be. They didn’t look very happy, scowling at him as he knelt. 

And then there was Exae. Even with his eyes on the floor, Grian could feel their gaze on him, could feel the gentle probes of their mind against his. With a breath, he focused on their thoughts of them, and let the probe in.

Exae had the longest hair of the three Watchers, letting it flow freely around them as they moved. ( _Ow._ That hurt a little. NonononomindonExae). Their skin was paler than the other two’s, the most player-like, and they were also the shortest of the three, at six and a half feet. ( _OW._ He scrunched his eyes shut against the increasing pressure in his mind. _)_ They were the “leader” of sorts, or at least the one everyone respected and listened to. They had been the one to find him, to train him, to—

There was a final, excruciating push, making him gasp, and then Exae’s presence was gone, leaving him trembling on the ground, putting in all his energy to keep the salute.

“ᒲ|| ᓭ𝙹リ.”

Struggling to keep his breathing even as his lungs burned for air, Grian blinked his eyes open, and looked up to see Exae on one knee in front of him. They had moved, whether during their probing or soon after he didn’t know, and now, their crown-like mask was only a few feet away from his own face.

They smiled, brushing their long fingers on the side of his head. Unlike the similar motion Onah had done not a half hour earlier, they fully cupped his head, almost as if they were trying to hold it.

Exae smiled.

“And the prodigal child has returned,” they announced softly. “What a wonderful day!”

“The plan went perfectly,” Onah added, and Grian took Exae’s distraction to plant his eyes firmly on the floor once again. “Sefsa has truly proven herself.”

Sefsa? 

Who was Sefsa?

There was a new variable here. Grian’s mind whirled. Sefsa was referred to as a _her_ , so she wasn’t a Watcher, who claimed they were above the player-like confines of a gender. Was she a player, like him? But there had been no one but him and the Watchers last he remembered, and he knew finding players, much less fully converting them to the cause, took time.

How long had he been gone?

“She must be rewarded for her efforts. She has returned my lost son to me.” Exae ran their fingers through his hair, lingering there for a moment before drawing away and standing up. “Oh, Xelqua, I cannot wait for you to meet your younger sister. She will help you understand.”

Grian hoped so. There was only so long he could keep bluffing his way through things like this.

“As you wish,” he said quietly.

“Xelqua, do stand up,” Exae crooned. Grian let out a sigh through his lips ( _darn it_ ), and did as he was told, reluctantly dropping the salute and dragging up his gaze to meet Exae’s.

Exae looked to Macan, who sighed but followed the silent request, reaching behind themself and pulling out a dark purple cloak— _his_ cloak. Grian watched as Exae took it, holding it in their hands for a moment before passing it on to him. Grian took the offered clothing, donning the heavy fabric he clasped it around his shoulders. It was still too long, pooling around his feet as he gave a quick salute of thanks to Exae.

The warmth was comforting. Grian never thought he’d miss his cloak; it was only being subject to all three Watchers at once that made him realize how protected it made him feel, despite how it weighed down on him and restricted his movements.

They hadn’t given him his mask back, he realized. Part of him was relieved he would have his regular sight for a while longer, but the other part, the more rational part, wondered just how angry Exae was for considering him worthy of the cloak but not the mask.

“What is it you wish me to do?” He asked when nothing was said between them, heart hammering in his chest.

“Oh, my apologies, Xelqua,” Exae smiled softly, returning to their throne. “I’m just so happy you’ve returned home. Sefsa will be taking you to your new chambers. You will get settled in, then the two of you will have some time to get to know each other. I’m sure you’ll get along fantastically.”

There was the tapping of distant feet, and Exae grinned. With a final prod to his mind, they leaned back, and Grian took the mental motion as permission to turn around and meet this new person.

He did so, and almost gasped.

His suspicions were correct. The newcomer was instantly recognizable as a player, a woman around his age (how long had it been since he’d seen—no, interacted—with another player? If he didn’t count his messages with Xisuma, months), with long, straight silver hair. It was difficult to discern her other features, though, with the long cloak that pooled around her feet in the same way his did and the Watcher mask covering the upper half of her face. Two large, lavender wings sat against her back as she walked down the grand hall to meet them, head tilted to stay on Exae. When she reached them, she bowed fluidly and saluted.

Grian blinked, shocked. How long had he been gone? For her to have a Watcher’s wings… she had been accepted by them. And acceptance from the Watchers took time. A lot of time.

“Sefsa, ᒲ|| ↸ᔑ⚍⊣⍑ℸ ̣ ᒷ∷,” Exae greeted her, motioning with a hand. Sefsa stood, hands clasped in front of her. “You’ve done so well. You’ve made me truly proud of you.”

Sefsa smiled. “Thank you, Exae.” Her voice was bland and cold, without even a hint of emotion. “I live to serve.”

“Xelqua here seems a little disoriented, though. I’m sure you wouldn’t mind taking him to his chambers to adjust?”

“I am yours to command.”

“Run along, then. I have issues I must discuss with Macan and Onah.”

Sefsa saluted first, Grian only a millisecond behind. They rose in unison, though, and walked down the length of the Grand Hall together. Even though she faced straight ahead, Grian couldn’t help but feel like the woman was staring at him.

Then the Grand Hall ended. Sefsa turned right into an adjoining hallway, Grian followed, and they were alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a heads-up, I might be changing the title soon. The current one is a work in progress and I'm not really satisfied with it.


	5. Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Watcher!Grian: Constantly in Danger, sad boi, doesn't know what's going on, Angst^TM  
> Hermit!Grian: Happy adventure times! With friends! :DDDD

Grian was still half-asleep when he started registering the light nipping on his ear. He grumbled, waving a hand over his head to try and make it stop. He hit something soft, which resulted in a squawk a few inches from his ear, waking him right up. He jolted upwards and out of the position he’d been sleeping in, muscles protesting at the sudden movement.

He groaned, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he smacked his lips. What time was it?

There was another irritated squawk, and Grian looked over to see Professor Beak sitting on the bedside dresser. If ever a bird were to look angry, Beak was pulling it off.

“Oh, was that you? Sorry,” he mumbled, standing up and stretching. He’d slept surprisingly well last night. When they’d found out that Scar only had one bed in the upper floor of Harvey, which Scar had thrust on Stress almost immediately, he’d had to make do with some bunched-up spare blankets on the floor. It was better than Scar, at least, who had used some of his cloaks hung up in the closet (“I’m the only one who hasn’t been injured!” he’d explained, and then promptly ignored their protests and passed out in the corner).

Grian cast his eyes about the room. Scar’s bed was empty, but was made, so Stress was probably already awake. Scar, now fully sans his beard, was still curled in that corner of his, drooling. For a moment, he shifted in his sleep, and just when Grian thought he was going to wake up, Scar sniffled, mumbled something along the lines of “Mommy, I don’t want the mashed potatoes,” and promptly went under once again.

Beak chirped, stopping Grian’s stretching session. He nipped under his wings, then shook his head and flew onto his shoulder. 

“Aw, couldn’t stay mad for long, could you,” Grian said, reaching to pet the parrot, then yelped as he got a good nip for his efforts. “...Guess not.”

He walked over the ladder heading downstairs, wood creaking as he went down. The smell of cooking food met him as he went, and his stomach rumbled as he jumped down to the ground.

Stress was in the main room, behind the workbench and facing away from him. She was bending over what seemed to be a stone oven. Grian hadn’t noticed it yesterday, but now it was kind of hard to miss, with a fire burning in the lower opening and some meat sizzling in the upper one. Some steak was already on the counter, and she was cutting it into strips. 

Well, that was just an open invitation. Grian reached around his friend and snatched one of the strips of bacon before he could be stopped. Stress nearly shrieked in surprise, smacking him on the chest as he ducked out of reach with his quarry already halfway in his mouth.

“Grian!” She exclaimed, shooting him a glare. “Don’t do that! You nearly scared me out of my skin.”

“‘M hun’y!” Grian responded with his mouth full, words falling away as the meat nearly melted on his tongue. He chewed and swallowed before speaking again. “That was amazing! I didn’t know you could cook.” He tried to sneak around for another pass at the meat, and was rewarded with a slap to the hand.

Stress shrugged. “‘S not like it’s hard. The meat was all bundled up in a chest and I just stuck it in the furnace.”

“Well, it tastes like _heaven_.”

“And _heaven_ will have to wait until I’m done.”

Grian pouted, pushing himself up onto the counter to watch the food longingly. Stress pulled out another steak, using a commandeered knife to slice it up and add it to the growing pile.

They spent the next fifteen minutes making idle small talk. Stress finished cooking as the sun began to breach the treeline across the lake, casting the snail in a warm morning light. Grian ate until he was full, which was quite a bit, while Stress ate a little less, not being as hungry. Scar came down later, only half awake, and almost fell asleep again while eating, which got some laughs out of the other two players. Professor Beak spent most of the time on the counter, pecking at some seeds Grian had found in a chest.

Just when Scar really started to wake up, their communicators all vibrated in unison, signalling the first messages of the day. Grian shared a curious glance with Scar and Stress, before opening his communicator.

_1 NEW MESSAGE_

_ <Cubfan135> Okay, I’ve figured it out. Please give great thanks to my pre-amnesia self for making a map with everyone’s locations on it. Took me half the night but I did it. _

_ <Cubfan135> There are 23 people labelled on the map. Since everyone who’s appeared in chat is on this list, I feel it’s good to assume that these are most, if not all of the people in this world. The map I found has labelled where everyone is. _

_ <Keralis1> Wow! So you know where we are? _

_ <Cubfan135> Yes! We’re in a large bay, with a huge island in the middle. Keralis, you’re on the west side of the bay. The closest people to you are “Xisuma” (probably the XisumaVoid fellow who died a few times yesterday) to your east, and “Jevin” to the West, in the ocean. _

_ <Stressmonster101> :o _

_ <TangoTek> What about me? _

_ <Cubfan135> You’re in the north, the closest to the island. “Impulse” is closest to you, to the West. _

_ <Grian> And us? _

_ <Cubfan135> You’re actually in the most crowded part of the map! Now wonder you, Scar, and Stress found each other so easily; you’re all labelled super close to each other. There’s two people nearby: “Mumbo” is close to the northeast, and “Iskall” is further to the northwest. _

_ <ZombieCleo> And me? _

_ <Cubfan135> Well… your label is pretty far away from everyone else, in the southeastern corner of the bay, but your spot on the map doesn’t look anything like you described. I don’t think you’re there. _

_ <ZombieCleo> Perfect _

_ <GoodtimeswithScar> We’ll figure out a way to find you! Promise! :) _

_ <Stressmonster101> What about you, Cubfan? _

_ <Cubfan135> I’m pretty isolated too (I’m in the south), but I’m close to the island. Since it’s at the midpoint of most of our positions, want to meet up there? _

_ <Grian> That’s a good idea. If Stress and Scar are cool with it, we can try and find Mumbo and Iskall. _

_ <Keralis1> I’m going to head west first and try to find XisumaVoid. I hope he’s okay! _

_ <TangoTek> That’s a good idea. Dying isn’t fun, and I’m speaking from experience here. I’m going down to the island. Might take me a while though. _

_ <ZombieCleo> I’ve been seeing some light on the horizon for a while now. I’m going to check it out. _

_ <Stressmonster101> Are you sure? I wouldn’t want you to get lost! _

_ <ZombieCleo> I’ve gotta do SOMETHING, and I am not sitting by the portal or out by the platform all day. _

_ <Stressmonster101> Well, stay safe! _

_ <ZombieCleo> I will :) _

_ <Cubfan135> Well, I suppose I’ll see you guys at the island. _

_ <Grian> All thanks to you, Cub! See you there! _

“Mumbo and Iskall…” Scar hummed, turning off his communicator. “Wonder what those two guys are like.”

“Or girls,” Stress put in, scratching Professor Beak on the neck. 

“Oh, please. Mumbo and Iskall are totally masculine names.”

“How do you know that? Last I checked Stressmonster isn’t very feminine, either.”

Seeming to sense that he’d been backed in a corner, Scar didn’t reply, holding up his hands in surrender as Stress preened.

“We never did go over genders with the others in chat, did we?” Grian mused thoughtfully.

“Oh, I hope there’s more girls,” Stress replied, walking over to the ladder. “I’m not sure what I would do with only meatheads around me all day. Scar, I’m going through your room for a new shirt; I don’t think my old one is very usable.”

“Sure. Might be a little big on you, though,” Scar shrugged, and Stress went up to the second floor.

“Toss me down a shirt, too!” Grian called out. “My sweater’s all gunky.”

“And stinky,” Scar added, only half humorously. His brown eyes twinkled when Grian turned his stink eye on him. Sure, dried blood didn’t smell good, but that wasn’t his fault, was it?

A few minutes later, Stress threw down a dark gray t-shirt, and Grian gladly swapped out his sweater for it. He and Scar spent the rest of the time getting ready to leave. Scar found a canvas bag, which he filled with bread and the yellow carrots. Grian swapped out his iron sword for a shiny diamond one and a scabbard he found in one of the chests downstairs, while Scar kept the iron axe Grian had tossed him last night. 

And then he found something else.

“Oho _ho_ ,” Grian chuckled to himself, reaching behind a furnace. “ _Score._ ”

A wide-brimmed brown hat had fallen in the crevice between the furnace and the wall, and when Grian pulled it out, it popped back into shape. It was made of a soft yet firm leather, and was coarse under his fingers. He slipped it on his head, where it rested nearly perfectly, and he grinned. 

Since he’s already looked through the rest of the basement, Grian climbed the ladder back upstairs. Stress had come down while he was downstairs, now sporting a cream long-sleeved shirt under her pink jacket. She’d put her diamond trousers and boots back on, and had turned her back to Scar, who was pulling on a dark brown pair of slacks.

“Finally found some pants?” He said by way of greeting. Stress gave him a thumbs-up. 

“Yeah, finally!” She answered chipperly. “It was buried in the back of his closet for some reason. Do you think my shirt goes with my jacket?”

Grian gave her a once-over, and nodded. Sure, it wasn’t the _best_ combination, but it looked nice enough and they didn’t have many options. Stress flashed him a smile as Scar finished dressing.

“That’s _much_ better,” he sighed, patting his thighs. “My past self was weird, man.”

“That is something I think we can agree on,” Grian teased, and Scar rolled his eyes.

“Well, I’m ready to get going,” Stress announced. She’d picked up a diamond axe somewhere, probably while going through Scar’s room, and was hefting it over her shoulder. “I’d like to see any corpses come after me now.”

“I haven’t heard any since last night,” Grian mused, opening the front door. The humid jungle breeze brushed his bare arms, and he realized how nice it was to not be wearing such a heavy piece of clothing. He glanced around, especially in the shade of the jungle trees, but found none of the creepers, skeletons, and corpses he’d seen in the dark. “Yeah, I think we’re clear.”

“Excellent!” Stress cheered. Grian slid down the ladder, the grass crunching under his feet as his friends followed suit.

“Okay…” Scar began, turning on his bracelet briefly. “Cubfan said that this Mumbo fellow is to the northeast, and since the sun rose that way—” he pointed towards the treeline. “I think north is that way.” He turned his hand ninety degrees.

“What makes you think that?” Grian asked. Scar pointed towards a series of towers looming on the horizon, halfway between the two directions. “Oh.” Right, he’d seen those yesterday, when he’d woken up on the mansion’s steps. He had to admit, from the ground they looked quite a bit more intimidating.

“Yeah, Cub didn’t mention anyone to the _south_ east, and I doubt those are natural. Let’s see if Mumbo woke up over there.”

So they made their way over the gigantic towers. There were several paths through the jungle, which made the going easier, and the three spent the time mostly in silence, discussion springing up here and there about what to expect when they got to the central island. Soon enough, the towers loomed above them, and Grian wondered silently how tall they were compared to the mansion.

"How does someone even _build_ this?!" Scar exclaimed as they came upon the monument. There was a hill in the center of the ring of towers, with an octagonal ring connecting said towers together. It floated in the air from their position, and the three were easily able to duck under it.

"I'm not seeing anyone," Grian mused, climbing up the hill. 

"Well, I'm seeing something!" Stress exclaimed from her position further up the hill.e hill. She pointed to the top of the hill. “Look! Something man-made!”

Grian sucked in a long breath and sprinted up the rest of the hill, catching up with Stress a few moments later. Scar arrived more slowly, out of breath, and the three of them looked down at what seemed to be an underground base. Only a few wooden planks peeked out over the grass, slightly taller in the very center of the hill. 

“An underground house,” Scar hummed, walking over to the wooden planks, Grian and Stress only a few steps behind him. “Oh, glass ceilings! That’ll be helpful.”

“Seems like an intrusion of privacy,” Stress mumbled uncertainly as Grian craned his neck to get a good look inside, finding a wooden and stone hallway several meters below, with the walls filled to the brim with chests. “Like looking through someone’s window.”

“We’ll, it’s kind of hard _not_ to,” Grian replied. “Look over there!” He pointed to a table just in view through the window, which had a plate with a few scraps of meat on it. “Fresh food!”

“Well, let’s see if this Mumbo fellow is home,” Scar decided. He stepped forwards, testing the glass with one foot, and when it didn’t so much as creak, he dashed across it, towards the raised center of the hill. Heart pumping at the thought of meeting someone new, Grian went right on his heels. He could just barely hear Stress’ sigh of exasperation behind him before her footsteps started following.

They made it to the top of the hill, and Grian realized that it was mostly without a ceiling, save for two singular crossbeams, meeting together in the center and sectioning it into four parts.

“Hello~!” Grian called into the house, right as Stress caught up to them. “Anybody home?”

The trio waited for a moment, listening, before there was a crash from inside the base, sudden and loud enough that it had Scar stiffening in surprise. 

“Wait, wait, just a moment!” An unfamiliar voice called out, crisp and slightly accented, as well as distinctly male. Half a minute later, someone stepped out into view.

It was a man, probably in his early twenties. He… didn’t look great, Grian had to admit. He was clean-shaven, with a short-sleeve dress shirt, red tie, and baggy slacks. His hair was messy, pointing in every possible direction, and it was clear he’d recently been the victim of a bad haircut. A bucket had attached itself to his left foot, and his fingertips were stained red (a red too bright to be blood, but it gave him a fright for a split second).

“Aw, man,” Stress sighed. 

“Yes, man!” Scar cheered quietly, and got a punch in the arm for his efforts.

“Hey, are you Mumbo?” Grian called down, ignoring his friends for the moment. “We were told someone by this name lives near here.”

“Uh, yeah. That’s me! I think.” The now-named Mumbo replied, scratching his head. “Sorry for the commotion, you scared me. And, well, apologies for my rudeness, but I seem to have lost my memory the other day. Who are you guys?”

“Yeah, the amnesia thing’s gone around,” Scar piped in, still rubbing his shoulder. “Everyone’s seemed to have lost their memories yesterday, so you aren’t alone. I’m GoodtimeswithScar, but you can just call me Scar.”

“I’m Stressmonster101,” Stress added. “Or Stress.”

“I’m just Grian.”

Mumbo blinked up at them for a moment, then grinned. “Oh, yes! I’ve read about you three! Man, this is great! Come on down; I’ve been dying to meet you!”

Grian, Scar, and Stress shared a confused glance. Grian looked down to the ground, an uncomfortable few meters down, and decided he wasn't going to jump.

“Wh—how?” Stress stammered. 

“Oh, yes,” Mumbo replied. “Getting in is a little tricky. Here, just a sec!”

He dashed into one of the hallways, stumbling on the bucket before kicking it off his foot and falling out of sight. The three were left waiting somewhat awkwardly until there was a splash of water. Grian looked up to see Mumbo just _popping_ out of the ground, flying a good half foot into the air and stumbling once he hit dry ground, though he quickly regained his balance. He adjusted his shirt and walked towards them.

“Bubble elevators!” He explained at the trio’s shocked expressions. “Quite ingenious actually; I’m still trying to figure out how they work.”

“You seem… well adjusted.” Stress observed. 

Mumbo smiled sheepishly, and Grian realized that he had a good three or four inches on Scar, making him the tallest in the group. “Oh, no. I just had good reading material.”

“Excuse me?”

“My pre-amnesia self kept a journal! It’s not a very good one, as I seem to have never gone to the extent of actually _explaining_ half the things I’m writing about when I even _write_ in it, but it’s been very helpful with me figuring things out.”

“ _Lucky_ ,” Scar breathed.

“So we’re in this journal?” Grian asked. 

“Yes, quite often! We were neighbors at the very least, but I’m sure we were friends.” Mumbo tapped his chin, thinking, then blinked and held out a hand. “But honestly, where are my manners? It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Well, we’re glad to have you here,” Scar said, shaking his hand. “Now, what exactly _are_ bubble elevators?”

* * *

All in all, Mumbo Jumbo was a cool guy, if a little intense when flustered. He was more than happy to show them how to use the bubble elevators and take them on a tour of his house, which was, admittedly, not much, just walls of chests, a small library with a floating book in the middle, and a bare-bones bedroom. Scar, Grian, and Stress, on the other hand, filled him in on how to use his communicator (“Oh, I was wondering what that was!”) and their plan to meet on the central island. Mumbo readily agreed to join them, grabbing a bag and filling it near to the brim with books. Only two were his journals, the others being a mix of blueprints and notes that he wanted to read.

The walk west was more animated than their first one. Grian and Stress almost immediately clicked with Mumbo, and Scar had his fun looking over some of the blueprints Mumbo’s past self had written.

Their search for Iskall didn’t go as well as the one for Mumbo had, though. They did find an inhumanly large, partially finished oak tree which was hollow and clearly inhabited on the inside, but it was empty of any intelligent life. They came to the conclusion that Iskall must’ve been gone when he’d lost his memories, and gave up, leaving the tree untouched. 

So they continued northwards, in the direction Scar thought they’d reach the ocean. 

Grian sighed, putting his hands behind his head as he walked. It was nearly noon, now, and they’d been wandering the jungle for hours since leaving Harvey. He’d practically sweated through his shirt in the humid heat, and he was the most lightly dressed out of the four of them. Poor Scar had abandoned his robe a half hour ago, tying it around his waist.

Conversation had died down since they’d left the giant tree, the signs of civilization dying with it. Stress and Mumbo were now walking together at the back, Mumbo hunched down nearly to Stress’ height as she explained the messaging system to him, both of their bracelets activated. Scar, leading, had one of Mumbo’s books in hand and his eyes straining to see through the treeline.

“Are we there yet?” Grian sighed, letting his hands fall down. He was Bored with a capital B and wanted this journey to be over with already. 

“Obviously not,” Scar replied, popping open his bracelet for a moment and checking the messages. “Cub says we should be getting close, but he doesn’t know where we are, exactly.”

“And neither do we. Ugh, I’m _hot_.”

“That makes two of us,” Scar laughed. He checked his bracelet again. “Hey, Tango’s gotten to the island! Good job on sending out your first message, too, Mumbo.”

“Thank you!” Mumbo replied, standing up straight as Stress smiled and turned off her bracelet. “This is so ingenious, I do wonder how it works. The metal is so thin, how could anything even _fit_ in it…” he trailed off and into thought.

“Don’t see the point in wondering,” Scar shrugged. “Our past selves knew and we’ll know again when we get our memories back. Best to just know how to use it.”

Mumbo frowned, opening his mouth as if to respond, before Stress cut him off with a gasp.

“I can see a break in the trees!” She exclaimed. That caught everyone’s attention, and when Stress dashed forwards, Grian was right at her side, anxious to get out of the humidity. Together, they rushed through the undergrowth, batting leaves out of the way before they abruptly stopped.

And Grian stopped with it.

Sure, he’d known what an ocean was. It had been one of the few things that had been left to his recollection. What he hadn’t really stopped to consider, though, was that he didn’t have any _memories_ of the ocean. It was like he’d just read about it in a book, unable to really understand what it was.

“It’s _gorgeous_ ,” Stress whispered, looking over the blue waves. 

There was a narrow strip of sand between the jungle and the water, and Grian knelt down and Mumbo and Scar caught up to them, letting it sift through his fingers. It was warm from the sun, got stuck under his fingernails, and he loved it.

Stress was slipping off her armor and shoes when he returned his attention to the group. Her jacket hit the ground with them and she was off at a run, sand spraying behind her as she ran ankle-deep into the water, laughing.

“Hey, wait for me!” Scar cried out, hurriedly rolling up his pants. He kicked off his shoes haphazardly, sprinting to catch up to his friend.

“You going to get in, too?” Grian asked, turning to Mumbo as he took off his own shoes, who at that point still seemed a little awestruck.

“Uh, no,” he said, blushing a little. “These are some nice clothes and my only set. I don’t want to ruin them.”

Stress let out a whoop, picking some wayward kelp out of the waves. Scar picked up the dangling end of it, quickly dropping it again with a disgusted look.

“Is that seriously your excuse?” Grian said as he set down his sword, raising an eyebrow. “C’mon, man, don’t be a buzzkill.” He gave Mumbo’s outfit a once-over. “And not to be rude, man, but there isn’t much to ruin.”

Mumbo let out a sigh, rubbing a bit at his upper lip. “Yeah; I lost a bet. That’s what my journal says, at least. Apparently I used to have a mustache! Someone called Tango shaved it off.”

Grian squinted at him, trying to imagine the taller player with a mustache, and utterly failed. Instead, he made a mental note to make sure Mumbo and TangoTek met.

“Poor past you,” he hummed. “Now come on, I wanna enjoy the water, and I can’t do that if you’re standing around like a lost duckling.”

Mumbo blinked at him, then sighed.

“You’re guilting me,” he huffed, already rolling up his pants. “You’re guilting me and it’s totally working.” 

Grian laughed at that, at exactly the same moment Scar let out a shriek as Stress launched a thin spray of water at him. He waited for Mumbo to get ready as best he would, then dashed across the sand (ow, hot) and over towards Scar and Stress, kicking water at them with a battle cry. He got some kelp to the face, courtesy of Stress, as a thank you for his efforts.

He laughed, peeling it off of his face, and tossed the poor plant at Mumbo, who unfortunately saw it coming, panicked, and dashed out of the way. He crashed into Scar as he did so, nearly sending them both into the water. Stress and Grian howled with laughter as Scar playfully shoved Mumbo away.

Sure, there was a lot he didn’t know. Would they be getting their memories back? _Could_ they? There were monsters in the deep ocean who roamed the woods at night, and he knew nearly nothing about the rules of this world.

But, surrounded by friends he’d known for a day at most, playing in the ocean like children, he felt well and truly happy, and knew that everything would be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course, though, it wouldn't.
> 
> \-----
> 
> Originally I was going to add Iskall's introduction into the chapter, as well as a Cleo and X PoV, but then I realized the chapter would be 7k words long at the least and probably never finished and decided to cut it. Cleo and X will make up the majority of the next chapter, and Iskall's introduction has been pushed back. 
> 
> Thank you all so much for 100 kudos! This fic was on 99 for around 3 days straight and I was checking it every few hours. What a joy to see that I've crossed this milestone!
> 
> As always, feel free to let me know what you think! Comments/Kudos/Bookmarks make my day!


	6. I Will Find a Way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to you, Panziku.

_There were flashing images all around him._

_Nothing was right. Nothing felt concrete._

_For a few moments, he was sitting at a circular white table, surrounded by his friends, most of them wearing pumpkin heads. They were in the midst of conversation, laughing and eating as they planned their attack._

_Then he was in a forest, chopping wood, when a man in red armor approached him. He looked over at him, opening his mouth to speak, but then he was gone again._

_A courthouse. Wels was holding a sapling, animatedly waving it around as he presented his case to Scar, who was sitting up in the judge’s seat. He leaned back from his spot next to Ren, sipping some sparkling water_ —

_He was alone in his ocean base, sitting on one of the slanted walls and watching the sun set._

_He was flying home from the Shopping District when there was a soft alarm in his helmet. He frowned, pulling up the admin logs and jolting at what he saw. How had someone gotten past the whitelist? He’d coded it himself. He didn’t have long to think about it before everything froze._

_He was sitting next to a skeleton spawner, minecart in hand as he waited for just the right moment to catch the next mob to spawn._

_He crouched in the corner of the hollowed-out cave, bow in hand as he shot arrow after arrow at the mass of Withers pulsing in the air. Distantly he could hear Tango and False shouting something, but they were much too far away for him to hear them properly. One Wither separated from the rest, hitting the wall, and in unison he and Python went after it, swords blazing._

His eyes snapped open. 

For a moment, he laid there, breathing heavily.

Had he been dreaming? He thought he had been dreaming. He didn't recall much about it, mostly blurry faces, distant inhuman screeches, and laughter, and even that was fading quickly, replaced by a deep-set sense of deja vu. 

He sat up, the covers of the lone bed pooling around his waist as he did so, and stretched. Sleeping with the helmet on had not been kind to his neck, leaving it cramped and stiff, but there wasn't much he could do about that. He stood up, shaking his legs to kick some feeling back into them. 

The sun was well over the horizon, which he regarded as a good thing. He’d slept through the night easily enough, and was feeling well-rested and ready to take on the day, the burning in his chest now a soft stinging he could easily ignore. 

Which would be helpful if he wasn’t trapped in a tower. 

Well, one thing at a time. As the sun’s rays crossed past the yellow and black wool of the open wall, he walked a few laps, unsure what to do with himself. The jungle was coming alive with the day, parrots chirping and leaves rustling, and he wanted nothing more than to _get out._ He needed to figure out what was going on; he could see what seemed to be a construction site in the distance, as well as several white, gray, and yellow towers in the jungle itself. He couldn’t be all alone out here.

Right?

He stood at the edge of the tower, looking down as he thought. Absentmindedly, he picked at the wool lining of the opening. A thread came off in his hand, and he pulled on it, watching as the yellow thread began to unwind.

He watched as he pulled at the thread even more, something itching in the back of his mind, the beginnings of an idea he couldn’t quite comprehend.

He looked at the wool block, more closely this time. It was woven together in sets of threes that multiplied on itself, like a softer version of rope. 

"That's it!" He exclaimed, throwing his hands up into the air. His voice cracked from misuse, and he realized he hadn't spoken since waking up, save perhaps for his scream when he'd fallen into the water. “Huh.” He hummed for a moment, getting used to the tone of his voice (what did it sound like without the helmet? He was achingly curious but wasn’t about to risk taking it off).

Anyways, he had an idea. He shook his head, stepping away from the wool outline and back towards the chest. He opened the biggest one, grabbing a group of black wool. There was a small number next to it, a white _42_ , which disappeared with the group into his hand when he moved to pick it up. Now he held an almost weightless, miniature block of black wool in his hand.

He looked at it more closely.

 _42_ , his mind whispered.

He blinked, slightly concerned. He looked at the block in his hand again.

 _42_.

He tossed the block in his hand. Nothing. He made as if to set it on the ground. One of the bigger wool blocks appeared in the center of the tower, but the smaller block in his hand didn’t change. He looked at it closely.

_41._

“Oh.” He said to himself. So the small block in his hand represented the bunch of wool he’d picked up in the chest. The number he kept on hearing was the amount he had. When he wanted to place a block down, he just had to make the motion and one would be placed, leaving the number in his head to tick down.

Well. This made things quite a bit easier. 

He rolled his shoulders and got to work. He placed a little more than half of the 42 wool blocks in the center of the tower, putting the rest back in the chest when he’d taken up a good portion of the room. Then, he knelt down, picked away at a larger woven bit of wool, strong enough that it held firm when he pulled on it, and began to unwind.

The sun made its way across the sky as he worked, shifting the shadows inside his tower as he did so. He unwound the wool, block after block, tying each loose end to the next until he was left with a spiral ring of woolen rope on the floor. 

He tied one end of the rope to one of the bed’s legs, and threw the rest of it out the side and down into the jungle. It fell down and out of sight, into the dense canopy below.

Well. Now it was time for a leap of faith. 

“Here’s to hoping I’m in shape,” he said aloud, rolling his shoulders. He grabbed the woolen rope with both hands, curled it around a foot, and began to rappel down to the ground far, far below.

It took him a good ten minutes, at the least, to get down to the ground, probably longer, and by the time he was done his arms had never ached so badly (to be fair though, he didn’t have much as a point of reference). On the bright side, it did seem like he was in shape! 

It was a relief to have his feet hit the solid dirt of the ground. He had judged the distance between the tower and the earth fairly well, actually overshooting by a meter or two. He took a moment to bask in his success, another to shake out his aching muscles, which were already growing sore, and then spent a good fifteen minutes just exploring his surroundings. 

Sure, he knew he had more pressing issues. How to eat and drink, for one. His stomach was starting to growl, but there was nothing edible in the area, and besides that he wasn’t comfortable removing his helmet considering how his lungs were still recovering from last time. Plus, he needed to see if there was anyone else around, and those construction buildings he’d seen in the distance certainly did look like a good place to start. Then there was the whole waking up without any memory thing.

But he never knew something could be so _green_. Or, well, that wasn’t quite the right way to put it. He had been watching the jungle from above for a good day or so now. Perhaps it was the variety of the flora and fauna. Perhaps it was the way he could pluck off leaves or watch a pair of parrots fly up in the canopy or dig his hands into the dirt. 

Whatever it was, he _loved it._

And it distracted him for a good, long while. 

Eventually, though, with his arms mostly feeling better, he thought he heard something, too faint to really make out. He shook himself, dusting the last clumps of dirt off his palms, and tilted his head. Had he really heard something, or was his mind playing tricks on him?

There! He turned to the right as he heard the distant and very man-made shout. It was a little louder than last time, but still faint enough that he couldn’t tell much about it except that it existed.

“Hello?!” He shouted as loud as he could, cupping his hands around the section of his helmet that covered his mouth. 

There was a brief moment of silence, before the distant shout came again, a little closer this time. He grinned, running off into the undergrowth as he tried to reach the voice’s source. They traded calls with each other, the wordless shouts eventually evolving into variations of “Hey!” and “Over here!” until they didn’t need to shout quite so loudly. 

Finally, they were so close he could feel it. He pushed through some of the taller bushes, grateful that his armor protected him from the sharp thorns and branches, and saw someone on the other side. 

It was a player, a human male by the looks of it. He was wearing a white shirt and a neon orange, white, and yellow vest, with thick jeans that sported leather patches on the kneecaps. He had short brown hair and eyes a shade darker. A blue axe was strapped to his side and there was a metal bracelet on his left wrist.

“Well, hello there!” The man said with a grin. And suddenly, He realized that he didn’t exactly have a game plan for when he actually met this guy. He just stood there, a little awkwardly, unsure what to do. The man laughed, unperturbed. “Ah, don’t worry about it! You’ve lost your memory, haven’t you?”

He blinked, surprised. How did the man know that?

“Yeah, don’t feel bad. I’ve happened to have lost my memories, too!” The man pointed a thumb at himself. “I’m Keralis1, or at least, that’s what my communicator is telling me.”

“...What?” A name? Oh, he hadn’t even considered names. What was his name? He didn’t know. What was a communicator? He had a lot of questions.

“Yeah, it’s a lot to take in.” Keralis1 shrugged. “I’ve been looking around for other people for a few hours now. Say, is your name...?” He paused, blinking. He made as if to open his mouth, then closed it again. “Huh. How _do_ you pronounce that?” He pressed down on his bracelet, and a _holographic screen popped up out of nowhere_. Nowhere near as surprised as he was, Keralis1 started reading the words on the screen.

He wished he could rub at his eyes, and settled for blinking a few times and shrugging rather helplessly.

“Huh. Well, I’ll figure the name thing out later. Did you die yesterday?”

“How did you know that?”

“Long story. Okay, I think I know who you are!”

Now the lack of explanation was getting annoying. He crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. “That’s impressive, considering even I don’t know that.”

Keralis1 smiled. “Don’t worry, I’ll explain everything. What do you want to know first?”

“How about the issue of my name?”

* * *

Cleo had decided a few hours ago that everything was boring.

There were three things to look at in the place she was sheltering in. The purple portal, a red sky, and the mottled gray rock floor. The air was thick and muggy, like a hot, humid day, without shade or water. 

And for heaven's sake, _there was still nothing to do_.

At least on the nighttime platform she’d been entertained, even if it was by murderous monsters that were trying to kill her. Now, there was nothing for her to do but sleep, and the little shut-eye she _was_ able to get was short and uneasy. In the end, she gave up on sleep and walked around the plains in ever-increasing circles, sure to keep the portal in sight but trying to catch any sort of change on the horizon. Eventually, she caught sight of a small yellow light on the horizon, but she held off on going for it, wary of letting the portal out of sight.

At some point morning had come, her bracelet lightning up with messages from her friends. She talked with them for a bit (of _course_ she was the one not on the map), but soon enough everyone was parting once again.

That was it. Cleo took in a deep breath, eyeing the light in the distance. She wasn’t about to spend another day doing nothing out on that platform, and she definitely needed to find a way to get to the others. That single discrepancy in the red and gray was her best bet.

Cleo bit her lip, steeling her grip on her sword, and started walking. 

It took her a while, but eventually the light grew closer and closer. She broke out into a jog near the end as a single strip of wood broke the mottled gray of the ground. Soon enough, a single torch, burning brightly, laid at her feet.

Cleo looked around, noting how the portal she’d come from was barely a purple blip on the horizon. She caught sight of two more torches, both in opposite directions and spaced far apart. She looked back to the portal, then to the torches. Then, she flipped a mental coin and walked towards the torch to her left, leaving the portal to fall out of sight behind her.

Walking was boring, and she did it for around an hour, her only entertainment being her rhythmic steps and talking with her bracelet. The torches were placed in a straight line, spaced out so that she could just see the next two in line, each with perhaps a half mile or so between them.

Finally, _finally,_ something new grew on the horizon. Cleo squinted, shading her eyes as she stared at the small, black and purple splotch on the horizon, before realizing that it was a portal, like the one she’d gone through and the people on her bracelet had been describing. Could it be one of theirs?

She was running before she even made the conclusion. She was tired, and hungry, and thirsty, but so ready for something _different_ that she made the mile run to the portal in seven and a half minutes flat. By then, more and more portals were showing up on the horizon, most with some sort of path pointing away from them and further away, out of sight. For a moment, Cleo considered just walking through the portal closest to her, but then took a closer look at the trails pointing off to the horizon.

“Of course _my_ portal had to be the isolated one without any landmarks,” she muttered under her breath, pulling up her bracelet. “ _Wonderful._ ”

_ <ZombieCleo> I’ve found a bunch of portals scattered about. All of them have some sort of trail leading away from them and towards something on the horizon. Kind of confused here and wondering what to do. _

_ <ZombieCleo> I need a second opinion. Should I go through the portal I’m at or see where these paths are leading? _

_ <Cubfan135> Hmmm.... tough one. _

_ <Cubfan135> How are you doing? _

_ <ZombieCleo> Pretty hungry and tired. But I can keep on going for a while. _

_ <Cubfan135> Hmmm _

_ <Cubfan135> I’d say explore. The paths probably lead somewhere important if they’re all heading in the same direction. _

_ <ZombieCleo> Anyone else? _

While she waited for a response, Cleo walked past the closest portal and started following the carpet trail placed down over it. When no one responded after a few minutes, she frowned. 

_ <ZombieCleo> Hello? _

_ <Cubfan135> I don’t think anyone else is on. _

_ <ZombieCleo> Really? Mumbo and Stress were just talking to me. _

_ <Cubfan135> \\_o.o_/ _

_ <ZombieCleo> How did you do that? _

_ <Cubfan135> \\_o.o_/ _

_ <ZombieCleo> Haha _

Cleo laughed to herself, turning off her bracelet and returning her attention to her surroundings. Slowly, more buildings were starting to appear, not just portals. As she walked, she watched as more and more colored carpets began to join together, running side by side. She followed them until they stopped at a central area. There were several portals all in close proximity, closer than even the ones she’d seen earlier. 

In the center of it all was a building. It didn’t have a door, or at least not one that Cleo could see, but inset in it was a row of colored blocks, with lamps above them. Most of the lamps weren’t lit, save for the last two over the red block and one of the two orange blocks. In front of the building was a huge stone chair that honestly looked more like a throne. To the right of the building and throne was an artificial tree, with a ladder leading up into a small treehouse. 

There was a book on a stand in front of the building, so Cleo went there first. It was made of a firm but soft leather, slightly warm from the heat of the place. She opened the book, and started to read the neat, blocky handwriting within.

_THE BUTTON_

_What is it?_

_The Button is alive, and has to be kept alive by being pressed. The closer to death the button is when you save it, the higher ‘rank’ you get, signified by a colored belt you can add to your outfit._

_How does it work?_

_If you press the button, the redstone lamps will fill back up, and you will get a colored piece of concrete. This is your rank, and you should then attach your rank belt to your outfit._

_Can I customize my belt?_

_Yes! It doesn’t even have to be a belt. It just has to be the right color._

_Do I get a prize for saving it in red?_

_Nope! But everyone will think that you are awesome. And purple belts will bow down to you._

_Should I laugh at people who are a lower rank than me?_

_YES. 100% YES._

_Can I press it more than once?_

_Yes, but your belt corresponds to your most recent press, meaning you can drop to a lower rank. There is no gray belt. That is not a rank._

_Any other questions? Feel free to ask!_

_It’s all fun and games, but people with purple belts should be ridiculed._

_Long live the Button._

_-Mumbo_

Cleo blinked, looking back at the button. It was on orange, right before red. No one had probably been through here on account of the memory thing, at least no one who had access to the bracelet, so the button hadn’t been pressed for at least a day.

She glanced down at the last page. Mumbo had signed the book, so he had probably made the thing. She had no idea how, but she tipped her metaphorical hat to his pre-amnesia self for creating such a game.

“Well, might as well get a belt,” she said aloud, and pressed the button.

There were some musical dings from the Button Building, and all of the redstone lamps lit up, starting at the purple belt and going to the orange one. A few moments later, there was a _pop_ , and a small orange cube fell down to the ground, at her feet. Cleo picked it up, and inspected it. It was almost weightless in her hand, and when she compared it to the orange concrete set in the Button Building, they looked nearly identical.

 _1,_ her mind whispered. Cleo blinked, confused by the thought, and shook it off, putting the cube in her pocket and turning on her communicator. 

_ <ZombieCleo> Guess what? I’m an orange belt now. Losers. _

_ <Cubfan135> ?? _

_ <MumboJumbo> Excuse me? _

_ <ZombieCleo> ;-) _

Well, at least Mumbo was back, now. She was _so_ going to milk this game for all it was worth. 

Cleo turned off her bracelet and turned to the portal closest to the building. Well, as fun as this button game was, she wasn’t about to wait for it to turn red. There were a few posters on this portal, one a map with big red lettering reading “MUMBO FOR MAYOR” with an odd symbol underneath it, another reading “FALSE FOR MAYOR” with a pixelated version of a blond lady waving, and the third reading “VOTE @Joehills DOGCATCHER.” Above the False advertisement was a simple wooden sign, reading “Shopping District.”

Man, how popular was Mumbo? And who were False and Joehills?

Well, she’d find out when she got her memories back. Cleo took a breath, and stepped into the Shopping District portal.

She stepped out on the other side to a _much_ cooler climate. Even though it was midday, it was cooler than even the platform had been. And there was a _breeze_. Cleo let out a laugh, throwing up her hands and letting the wind push her hair around.

She felt amazing! This made the whole trip so worth it.

Anyways. Cleo cast her eyes around her, and gasped. 

She seemed to be on a gigantic island, covered in mushroom trees and mycelium. There were a ton of buildings around her, each with their own unique spin and style. She was on a tall stone podium, and next to it was a rocket-shaped building. Behind that was a gigantic, industrial-sized set of buildings. There was a wooden raft in a shallow lake, a small pile of diamonds, and on the top of a hill was a huge brick and sandstone building. 

“Wow,” Cleo breathed. She turned on her bracelet.

_ <ZombieCleo> Went through a portal titled Shopping District. I’m on this big mycelium island with a ton of buildings on it. _

_ <Cubfan135> Do you think it might be the central island we were talking about? TangoTek said the island on my map was the same as what you’re describing. _

_ <ZombieCleo> Yeah, you’re right! _

_ <Stressmonster101> Where is TangoTek, anyways? I haven’t heard from him for around an hour now. _

_ <Cubfan135> I assumed he got distracted with the island. Keralis hasn’t checked in for a bit, too. _

_ <ZombieCleo> I can go see if I can find him. This place is pretty big, tho. _

_ <Grian> Do your best! Mumbo, Scar, Stress and I will hopefully be coming soon once we find a way across the ocean. _

_ <Cubfan135> I didn’t really think that part out, did I? _

There was a small hole in the platform that dropped down to a small pool of water in the ground. Seeing no steps or anything of the like (seriously? She didn’t want to get wet), Cleo sighed and hopped down. She hit the water with a small splash, thoroughly soaking herself, and was quick to dry herself off, shaking her arms and ringing out her hair. She waved her sword through the air, flinging water droplets towards the ground, and hummed a tune. 

She started walking towards the large brick building. What better place to start than the high ground?

Cleo only realized there were footsteps behind her a second too late, just before something _very_ sharp poked her in the back.

She froze.

“Don’t move,” someone said, directly behind her. Male, low-pitched, with a distinct inhuman rumble to it. For the moment, Cleo listened to him. “Good. Drop the sword.”

“Now why would I want to do that?” she shot back, proud of how she kept her voice from trembling. In answer, the sword pressed, ever so slightly, harder into her back, just shy of drawing blood.

Man, it’d be nice if she weren’t wearing a crop top right now.

Okay. In a few seconds, Cleo ran through her options. Listen, giving herself to the complete mercy of her unknown assailant and ensuring either her safety or demise. Or, turn and fight, which would put some power in her hands. But she didn’t have any memory, which included not knowing _how_ to fight. 

But no one had their memory. No one she’d heard from anyways. And the man had snuck up on her from behind instead of attacking head-on. Was he bluffing? Was he an amnesiac, like the rest of them?

Well, she wasn’t about to give up without a fight. 

Cleo tightened the grip on her sword, pivoted on one foot, and swung blindly behind her. Her sword caught on another, and she turned, fiercely glaring at her assailant.

He looked a little like the creepers she’d seen on the platform, if a creeper was a huge 6’5 humanoid, having messy brown hair and a partly cybernetic head and arm (but who was she to judge? She looked unsettlingly similar to the corpses, after all). He was fully decked out in shiny diamond armor, and hosted a shiny diamond sword very similar to her own. Last, but certainly not least, he did _not_ look happy.

Well then. She hadn’t thought of the guy having armor. Cleo was suddenly _very_ aware of how much skin she was showing, and realized that perhaps she’d misjudged the situation.

Oh, well. Too late to go back now. Cleo gritted her teeth as her and the man’s(?) swords slid past each other and separated from the lock. The man gritted his teeth, growling as she tried to put some distance between them.

“Oh, I can do this the hard way,” the man huffed, and lunged at her.

Cleo reacted on instinct, her feet moving on their own to pull her under the sweep of the man’s sword, though she suspected it took off a few of her hairs. She brought up her sword to take a swipe at him with all her strength. He grunted, but besides that his diamond chestplate thoroughly protected him from her attack.

Shoot. Time to run.

Cleo blocked another strike, stumbling against the force of it as she tried to put some distance between the two of them. It seemed her initial assumption had been correct; the man did not know how to fight. But with him having superior strength and armor, that didn’t really matter.

“Dude, just leave me alone!” She cried out, making a break for it. Her only chance was to run. Surely the man’s armor would slow him down, right?

She barely made it twenty meters before an arrow thudded at her feet, missing her right foot by centimeters. Cleo skidded to halt, glancing about and catching sight of someone on top of a partially submerged building. It was a woman with blond hair, the same armor as the man, and an arrow pointed straight at Cleo’s heart.

“You’re beaten!” The woman shouted at her. “I suggest you surrender.”

And suddenly Cleo realized why Tango hadn’t contacted them since arriving at the island. She scowled, but dropped her sword. The man, out of breath from running after her, kicked it out of reach and pointed his blade at her neck.

“Now,” the man growled, glaring at her. “You’re going to tell us who, exactly, you are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I probably should have put this in my first chapter, but I forgot so it's going here. I just want to say thank you to and recommend the three things that made "The Coding Conundrum" possible:
> 
> First is ambered's fic "Lost in the Void's Embrace," the first Hermitcraft fic I ever read and the one that gave me the inspiration for this one (In the fic, Xisuma lost his memory. In response, I thought, "What if EVERYONE lost their memory?"). It's very popular, so you've probably already read it, but if not, give it a go! This fic wouldn't exist without it.
> 
> Second is Sekrap's "Trickster." Without it "The Coding Conundrum" would only be a one-shot without any overarching plot. Again, this is a popular fic, but I wanted to shout it out for giving me the little nudge to create my own version of Hermitcraft lore. 
> 
> Finally, I'm shouting out my close friend Siren (DoctorSirenArt on Instragram and DoctorSiren on YT). Without her to bounce ideas off of and bring me back to reality, this fic wouldn't be what it is. If you're craving more Hermitcraft content, she's creating an AU animatic series on YouTube.
> 
> Anyways, thanks for letting me ramble. I really wanted to credit the things that gave me my inspiration. Kudos/Bookmarks/Comments make my day, and thank you for reading!


	7. Or I Will Make One

Sefsa was quiet.

Of course, one had to be when serving the Watchers. Grian had learned that fact very quickly, back when he’d first arrived. Gone were the mischievous snickers, loud explosions and laughter of  _ then _ . He wasn’t to be seen or heard unless they wished him to be, and even then it was tricky, trying to figure out what they wanted from him. Watchers were fickle beings, and trying to figure out what they wanted took a lot of observational skill that he hadn’t had, back then. 

Even when he’d settled in and come to terms with his situation, Grian had always been loud. Maybe not audibly, but he’d never really been one to sit down and duck his head. He spoke firmly if demurely, and he’d never mastered the way the Watchers could almost glide down the hallways without a sound.

But Sefsa… Sefsa brought it to a whole new level. Everything about her seemed to scream  _ quiet. _ Her cloak hardly made a sound as she moved, feet just barely making a tap on the polished purpur flooring. She didn’t move unless the motion was necessary. Her hands were still clasped in front of her, her head still bowed towards the ground. 

Grian, who’d popped back into his high-head and straight-backed posture once out of sight, found it unsettling.

He didn’t say anything, though, and neither did Sefsa, leaving him to stew in his thoughts as the strange woman led him towards the South Wing. He couldn’t help but feel a little apprehensive as they went. His chambers had been in the South Wing, along with the machine parts and communicator that had been his lifeline for the last few weeks. For a moment, he wondered if Sefsa really was going to bring him to his old chambers.

But the other player went up two floors instead of down one, and Grian couldn’t help the disappointed sigh that slipped past his lips. The breath seemed thunderous compared to Sefsa’s silence, breaking it up for a moment. Grian bit his lip, watching Sefsa out of the corner of his eye. Something about her seemed ever so slightly familiar, like someone he’d met years and years ago, even before  _ then _ . Long enough that he had the feeling he should know her but couldn’t place exactly why.

He couldn’t take it anymore.

“Who are you?” He asked. Despite how he lowered his voice to almost a whisper, it still sounded thunderous against the previous silence, making him wince.

Sefsa turned, looking at him with that porcelain mask of hers. Still expressionless, she spoke.

“I am Sefsa. I serve the Watchers.”

_ Well, yes. I figured that _ . “I mean…” Grian paused to lick his lips. What was it about Sefsa that made him so nervous? “Before?”

There was a long pause. Sefsa looked forwards once again, stopping by a door near the end of the hallway they were in. She placed a hand on the doorknob, but did not move to open it. 

“Before does not matter, Xelqua,” she said, so softly that Grian had to strain to hear her. "It may as well have not existed. All that matters to me is my place here.”

Something cold settled in the pit of his stomach at that. Even at his worst moments, Grian had always held on to the idea of  _ then _ . Sure, he learned to rarely think of it, to refer to it as  _ then _ instead of… well, how he used to refer to it. He’d always thought of himself as his own person. He was Grian, not Xelqua.

Sefsa did not do that. And that scared him.

“Exae has commanded that you are to stay with me,” Sefsa said after a moment, seeming to collect herself. She opened the door to a small suite. There was a kitchenette to the side, a table with two chairs, and a writing desk. There were two doors to the right, and one to the left. Sefsa stepped inside, and with only a slight hesitation, Grian followed. “You will be sleeping adjacent to me.” She pointed to the right, at the door closest to them.

“How long will I be here?” He asked. Sneaking away would be much more difficult if Sefsa was plastered to his side at every moment of the day.

“As long as Exae wishes,” Sefsa replied, lifting her shoulders ever so slightly, in a way that resembled a shrug. 

Of course she didn’t know. Grian sighed, walking over to the door she had indicated. He opened it to find a bare endstone room, with end rods as lighting in the corners. He had a small twin bed, and he ran a hand over the white duvet to find it soft, made of the same material as the thinner sheets from the cot in the bedrock prison. There was a small chest in the corner. Besides that, the room was empty, unused.

It was different from his old room, three floors below them. Sure, it’d had the same furnishings as his old room; in fact, this place was identical to the room as it had been when he’d first arrived at the Deep End. 

But his room had changed as he lived in it. The duvet had been fraying in some places, and smudged with ink or oil when he’d collapsed in it, too tired to care about cleaning himself before sleeping. He’d hung little trinkets from the endrods, made wind chimes from shards of purpur, and tiny houses and people out of twine. 

This room, as well as the one he’d entered in first, looked like no one had ever stepped foot in them before. Grian couldn’t help but wonder why. Surely Sefsa hadn’t been this depersonalized with her one private space in the Castle before being accepted.

Maybe she had. Grian didn’t know which he liked less. Had she always been like this? Or had she been broken enough to remove all traces of her past self?

He’d been caressing the duvet for so long it was getting weird. Had he been alone, he might have chuckled at his absent-mindedness, but as it was, he simply removed his hand and walked back out to the main room. Sefsa was still there, head turned out to the singular window in the back of the room. It was small, too small to squeeze through and covered with iron bars anyway, but you could still look out into the starry Deep End night, the rolling endstone plains, and even further beyond that, the rolling black of the void itself.

He missed looking out his window and seeing the blue ocean waves.

He shook the thought of  _ then _ out of his head. Sefsa certainly wasn’t about to start a conversation with him, and he was already feeling tired. With a sigh, he unclasped his cloak and draped it across one of the two chairs, rolling his shoulders. Without the Watchers bearing down on him, the heavy fabric had quickly become oppressive once more. He sat down, pulled a golden carrot out of his inventory, and ate quietly, letting his mind wander to nowhere in particular.

After a moment, Sefsa’s mask turned to face him. Grian did his best not to fidget or react much as he felt her oppressive stare. After a moment, she turned away again, and looked back out the window.

Grian finished the carrot, rubbing the leftover gold dust between his fingertips. Finally, he gathered the courage to ask the question that had been burning at him since his meeting with the Watchers.

“How long was I gone?”

Sesfa didn’t answer immediately. As the seconds stretched into minutes, Grian stopped waiting for an answer, and sighed, resigning himself to boredom until the Watchers saw fit to summon (and inevitably punish) him once more.

“You were gone a long time. I came a few days after you left.” Sefsa’s voice was still quiet, still emotionless, and it caught Grian off guard. “I do not know how long it was. Very long. When I found you, you’d been in the server long enough to build a megabase.”

Grian blinked. That was a long time. He didn’t even know it was possible to take that many memories from someone at once. 

On one hand, he’d escaped. XisumaVoid’s plan had worked and he’d escaped long enough that he’d settled in and given the Watchers enough time to accept Sefsa. On the other, he wondered how XisumaVoid was doing, if he and the other server members were safe. He wondered if they were looking for him, or if XisumaVoid had packed up and run to avoid getting caught crossing a Watcher. He wondered if Sefsa had been ordered to spare them, or if she’d been ordered to permakill.

He didn’t ask what had happened.

He didn’t want to know the answer.

* * *

Grian knocked at the towering door in front of him, rapping his knuckles hard enough that they hurt. He waited for a long moment, biting the inside of his lip, before the door swung open of its own volition. He stepped inside to a room filled with shadows, dim torches lit with purple flames flickering in the ceiling. 

Exae was sitting on the floor, legs crossed and hands folded together. Their cloak hung around their form, curling around their knees to reveal their long, dark purple tunic. They smiled as he entered. 

“ᒲ|| ᓭ𝙹リ,” they said. Grian knelt down and saluted, trying to ignore the chill that went up his back at their words. “Did you sleep well?”

“Very,” he replied, voice steady. He’d hardly slept a wink the ‘night’ (for there was no discernible daylight cycle in the Deep End) before, his nap while in the bedrock prison and whirling thoughts in his mind more than enough to keep him awake. “Thank you.”

“You are very welcome,” Exae purred. They motioned with one of their clawed hands. “Sit. I must test you to see what you have retained.”

Grian sat cross-legged a meter or so away from the elder Watcher, placing his hands on his knees to hide how they shook. He knew what was about to happen, and no amount of precautions could prepare him for it. 

He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he felt Exae’s testing probe. It was different than the one that they had done yesterday, like mining stone with a chisel instead of a pickaxe. As Exae began to shift through his thoughts and sense of self, he let himself wander, content to let Exae follow his carefully selected train of thought.

Watchers were very special beings. They were higher than players, for lack of a better word. They were born (created? He did not know how a Watcher was made, and it was not his place to ask), with their wings and abilities, which were numerous. While players had their own innate brands of magic, respawn and their inventories being two examples, Watchers took their power from the void, and thus had access to greater things.

A sensation of pleasure shot through him, not his own. Grian sensed it, accepted it, and moved on.

Telepathy was perhaps the greatest of their powers, if he had to choose. Watchers had the ability to see into the current thoughts going through someone’s mind, like how Exae was following this very chain of thought right now.  It’d taken him weeks to Of course, everyone, even players, had the ability to learn how to fight off such probings. While he would never need to use this ability against Exae, they had taught him how to resist a gentle probe, how to protect his mind so he wasn’t constantly broadcasting his thoughts to them (It was quite distracting when unneeded), and how to better detect when a Watcher was in his mind.

He paused there, unsure of where to go next. Sensing his hesitation, Exae prodded at him, hard enough that it hurt a little. Then, they chuckled aloud, and receded from his mind altogether, leaving him lightheaded.

Grian blinked open his eyes, unaware that he had even closed them, and put a hand to his head, trying to dispel the rapid spinning of the room. That was odd. He hadn’t had reactions like this since the first few times Exae had probed him. And this was the easy part.

“You’ve grown weaker, without practice,” Exae hummed, still save for the movements of their mouth. “Such a shame, too. You were so talented. It’ll take time to build up your strength again.”

Grian’s mouth was dry. He wanted a drink.

“Try to stop me, now.”

He nodded, not trusting himself with words.

If the probe yesterday was like a pickaxe to stone, and the previous one a chisel, this was like a prolonged TNT explosion. Grian gritted his teeth, and when Exae slammed against his barriers, he pushed back.

He started to hurt as he struggled to push back against this most basic of attack, cursing his past self as he did so. Whatever he had done while with XisumaVoid, he had been slacking in his mental strength. This was a basic, blunt attack against his mind, one that, before he had left, he would have been able to parry with a decent amount of effort. Now he was scrabbling to just slow Exae down.

Exae pulled back for a moment, then slammed against his feeble barriers again, the sheer force and  _ pain _ of it making his vision flash white. He wanted to cry out, but knew what exactly doing so would entail. Instead he clenched his fists so that his nails dug into his palms, breathed in through his nose, and  _ pushed _ . 

“You have grown weak without us, Xelqua,” Exae said, voice steady and strong. Any warmth that might have been in their voice earlier was gone. As they spoke, they receded just a bit, enough that Grian could just about hold them off. “You will learn how to be strong once again.”

Grian felt like he was about to fall apart. He didn’t want to be strong. He didn’t want to be like Sefsa. He wanted to be gone, he wanted to be in his old chambers. He wanted to be in his ocean base and feel the grass against his feet and watch  Netty as she taught  Taurtis how to make flower crowns.

Exae pushed again, stronger than even the last two pushes. Finally, his last defenses shattered, and the sheer force of their will rushed over him.

It  _ hurt _ . It hurt so  _ bad _ and Grian finally got a taste of what his punishment for escaping was going to be. 

He thought he might be screaming.

A moment later everything blinked out.

* * *

He thought he felt something cool against his forehead.

It hurt to think. His head throbbed with each beat of his heart, and when Grian became aware of it, he wanted to cry. He was so  _ done _ . He wanted the pain gone.

The coolness against his forehead moved, bringing some slight sense of relief with it. 

Huh. That had never happened before. 

Someone was humming gently, to a tune he thought he might have heard before, but honestly he was tired and his heart hurt, so he didn’t put in the effort to remember. 

He drifted for a time, semi-aware of the coolness and the humming, before he eventually fell back to unconsciousness once more.

* * *

It took Grian a little while to wake up.

When he finally gathered the strength and will to open his eyes, the light made him snap them shut once again. His head throbbed, his stomach growled, and his tongue felt like sandpaper against his mouth. 

After a few moments, he opened his eyes once again. He was back in his room, and he was alone. 

He sat up, and though his vision swirled and he almost fell over, he swung his feet over the side of the bed. He needed water, and he needed it  _ now _ . 

He stood up and tried to take a step. This time he did fall over, and it took him a solid five seconds to realize his head was on the ground and not up in the air. The pain followed a little after that. He groaned, put his hands on the floor, and pushed himself up into a sitting position. 

This time, Grian ignored how his mouth was screaming at him, and waited for the room to stop spinning before standing up. He took a few shaky steps, finally regaining some sense of balance as he reached the door opening it. 

In the corner of his eye, he could see Sefsa’s mask turning towards him from where she sat at the writing desk, but he ignored her for now. Instead, his attention was on the sink in the kitchenette. Not bothering to get a cup, he turned on the faucet and drank straight from that, water running down his neck and shirt. He knew he was making a mess of himself, but in all honesty, he didn’t care. He was already a mess. 

Finally, he felt sated, and pulled back from the water, turning it off. He wiped his mouth, and leaned his forehead against the cold counter, sighing as it gave some relief against the throbbing in his head.

There was a rustling behind him, and Grian pulled himself away from the counter, turning and leaning against it to find Sefsa walking towards him. She stopped a fair distance away, tilting her head. It looked like she was feeling some sort of mild emotion, but with the mask covering half her face it was hard to tell.

Idly, he wondered why he hadn’t been given his mask back yet.

“How long was I out?” He asked.

“Half a day or so,” Sefsa replied, toneless as was quickly becoming the norm. “Macan wishes to tell you that you will meet them in the courtyard in two hours. They expect you to be there.”

“Thanks,” Grian muttered, not thankful at all. Exae might have just left him a trembling, half-functional mess, but at least they were fond of him. He was not looking forward to whatever the youngest Watcher had in store for him.

“Here.” One of Sefsa’s hands, slender and pale, emerged from the folds of her cloak. A small bottle laid in the palm of her hand, swirling with magenta liquid. “You should be as strong as possible when you go.”

Grian very nearly gasped, taking the bottle almost reverently. He held it up to the light, watching the small bubbles are particles float inside.

“This is a bottle of regeneration,” he said, awed. “How did you get this?”

“Onah gifted it to me, when I went to fetch you. I did not need it during my mission, and they did not want it to go to waste. They gave me permission to give it to you.”

Of course. That sounded like Onah, ever the practical one. Still, Grian was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, and he uncapped the bottle, downing it and ignoring the faux strawberry flavor that made him want to gag. Almost immediately, a tingle rushed through his body, giving relief to his aching head. 

“Thank you,” he breathed, feeling his strength begin to return. He let go of the counter, a little more sure on his feet. 

“I live to serve.” And with that, Sefsa’s hand retreated back to her cloak, and she returned to the writing desk. 

Grian sighed. That was as much as he was going to get from her, he supposed. Now, he had something new to worry about.

Exae was one thing.

Macan was something else entirely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I have an announcement.
> 
> You might have noticed that my updates have been slowing down quite a bit over the last month. This is due to a myriad of reasons, but in all honesty, this particular chapter has been done for more than a week now. Why, then, did I wait so long to upload?
> 
> Starting in July, I will be going on a five-week hiatus due to some real-life events in my life. I'll be without an internet connection during this time, which mean I'll be unable to write for the Coding Conundrum or watch Hermitcraft. Over the last two weeks, I've been trying to stock up on content for this five-week gap, so I won't be leaving you guys without anything to tide you over until I return. Currently, not including this chapter, I have one and a half extra chapters written, so at the very least you will be getting 2 pre-written chapters while I'm gone, hopefully 3 if I have the time over this next week.
> 
> My close friend, DoctorSiren, will have access to this account while I am gone, and will be posting these chapters in my absence. Big shoutout to her again (@DoctorSirenArt on Instagram and DoctorSiren on YouTube) for doing me such a big favor. If she wants to, I've given her permission to write the Chapter notes and reply to comments. 
> 
> Hopefully, I'll be back mid-August, but in all honesty I'm not sure. I'll be extremely busy even after I return, so much so that even finding the time to write, much less watch Hermitcraft, will be a challenge. But I'll do my best to come back as soon as possible. I hope you all can understand :). I've been given a great opportunity, and I'm excited to take it, even if it means sacrificing a lot of my free time.
> 
> I'll be online until around the 29th, so if you have any questions or comments, whether it be about the story or my hiatus, feel free to let me know.
> 
> See you all again in August (hopefully)! Ta-Ta!


	8. Fear

“My name is ZombieCleo,” Cleo said, hyper aware of the sword pointed close to her neck. Sure, respawning was a thing, but she didn’t know where exactly she would end up if she died, and she wasn’t keen on testing whether or not she’d end up back on the platform.

“And?” The creeper-cyborg said, prodding her neck just a bit. Cleo’s eyes flickered back to the woman as she leapt down from the building she’d been perched on, landing easily on the grass in a neat roll. 

“That’s it,” she finally responded. “Lost my memory the other day. Came here looking to see if I could find anyone. Now could you _ please _ take your sword off my neck? It’s hard to talk.”

The blade stayed in place, and Cleo didn’t risk a look at its wielder, keeping her eyes trained on the woman as she approached. She was pretty, that was for sure, with long, straight blond hair pulled back into a ponytail. Her diamond armor glittered in the light, and her bow hung menacingly on her back.

“She might be one dangerous,” Creeper-Cyborg said, speaking to the blonde woman. 

“Or she might not be,” Blondie replied, putting one hand on her hip to regard her with piercing blue eyes. “I’m still of the opinion that Red-Eye’s just an idiot.”

“You can be dangerous and still be an idiot.”

Blondie shrugged, giving in.

“Who are you two?” Cleo asked, growing a little annoyed about her attackers talking like she wasn’t even there. 

“None of your business,” the woman snapped, attention flicking back at her. “Put your hands up behind your head.” She turned to Creeper-Cyborg as Cleo did as she was told. “We can put her in with Red-Eye. See if they get something out of each other.”

Creeper-Cyborg hummed, shrugging, and removed his sword from her neck, moving to point it at her back. 

“See that large building at the top of the hill?” He asked. “We’re going up there. Don’t get any funny ideas, either.

_ Like I’m going to get far with that lady’s bow pointed at my head, _ Cleo thought with a huff. She didn’t say anything, though, and walked over to the large red building that had attracted her attention when she’d first arrived. The trip was mostly silent, with Creeper-Cyborg’s sword pointed at her back to pacify her.

Cleo couldn’t help that gasp that escaped her lips, though, when she walked up the second layer of stone steps up to the building. Inside sat a  _ gigantic _ mound of diamond blocks, glittering where the sun’s light fell on it. She paused for a moment, taking it in, before Cyborg-Creeper gave her a painful prod in the back. 

“I’m going, I’m going!” She exclaimed, climbing up the last steps and towards the diamond pile. Despite her scowl over Cyborg-Creeper, she couldn’t help but keep her gaze on it. 

“Keep moving,” Blondie commanded, moving up so that she was beside her. Go left and up the staircase.

“Got someone new?”

Cleo jerked at the new voice, nearly impaling herself on Cyborg-Creeper’s sword. Perched in one of the crevices was a figure who had most definitely  _ not _ been there ten seconds earlier. Unlike Blondie and Cyborg-Creeper, he was absent of any armor, instead wearing a forest green vest, a dark blue, almost gray long-sleeved shirt with pants of the same color, a mask covering the lower half of his face, and padded sandals. His hair was white and held back with a headband. One eye was brown, the other scarred over and red.

“I thought you were out  _ exploring _ ,” Cyborg-Creeper said, accenting the last word in an annoyed sort of way. The man snorted. Cleo dubbed him Ninja.

“Saw you fighting the new chick,” he replied, tapping his fingers on a knee. “Thought I’d drop by and say hello.”

“Oh, make yourself useful and watch for other newcomers.”

“As you wish, o mighty one.” Ninja stood and took a bow, before jumping down to the floor, landing without a sound and stalking off with a sarcastic salute.

“Prick,” Creeper-Cyborg muttered, though there was a distinct tinge of amusement to his voice. “Up the stairs, you.”

“Are you hiding any more people up there?” Cleo snarked as she went, and got a good prod to the back for her efforts. “ _ Ow _ !”

“Quiet.”

They reached the top of the stairs, and Cleo turned and stuck her tongue out at him. Creeper-Cyborg was not amused, though Blondie certainly seemed to be.

“Alright, let’s get you—” Blondie began, before cutting herself off with a sigh. “O!”

Next to one of the heavy oak doors dotting the wall was a man. He was darker-skinned than Blondie, with thick black hair, a white t-shirt, and a battered pair of jeans. He was also slumped over on the ground, chin to his chest, asleep.

Blondie sighed, walked over to the man, O, and nudged him with her foot. It took a few tries, but suddenly O was jerking awake. 

“I’m up! I’m up!” He exclaimed, rubbing at his eyes. “Aw man. I nodded off again, didn’t I?”

“Yup,” Blondie replied, popping the “p.”

“Ugh. Well, someone else dropped by?”

“Yup.”

“You want to put them in with Red-Eye?”

“Yup.”

“Alrighty, then!” O hopped up to his feet, flashing Cleo a smile. “Nice to meet ya! I’m O. Sorry about this whole situation, but, well, we gotta make sure you’re not a serial killer or something.”

“I’m not a serial killer,” Cleo replied flatly. 

“ _ Sure _ . Besides, don’t be sad, you’re gonna have a friend. Dunno how nice he’ll be, though; Red-Eye isn’t talking to anyone.” He eyed Creeper-Cyborg. “Wonder why.”

“Very funny.” Said player grumped.

“Put your hands together and in front of you,” Blondie instructed. Cleo did as she was told, not too surprised when she procured a rope and tied it around her wrists, snug but not tight enough to cause pain.

Cleo did protest, though, when Blondie’s hands went for her bracelet. 

“Hey!” She yelped, yanking her hands to her chest. Blondie simply gave her an almost sympathetic look, and forcibly grabbed her wrists. Cleo tried to pull away, but Creeper-Cyborg putting his hands on her shoulders prevented her from escaping. Soon enough, Blondie’s hands seemed to find something, and the bracelet snapped open, sliding easily off her wrist. 

Her stomach dropped as Blondie eyed her only form of communication, tucking it in some pocket inside her armor. Did these people know what the bracelet was? Had they been spying on her conversations with the other players?

“Hopefully you won’t be in here long,” O said apologetically. “But we can’t take any chances.”

“Chances with what?” Cleo grumbled. O opened his mouth to continue, but Blondie shot him a look and he swiftly shut it again. 

“Off you go.” Creeper-Cyborg pushed her forwards, and O took her by the arm, leading her to the oak doors.

“Have you eaten yet?” He asked her. 

At the mention of food, Cleo’s stomach growled. She hadn’t eaten since she’d speared some fish on her sword that morning. 

O chuckled, hearing her body’s complaints. “I’ll get you lunch in a bit, then.”

And with that, he opened the door, pushed her inside, and shut it again, locking with an audible  _ click _ .

“ _ That _ went well,” Cleo muttered, brushing herself off as best she could and looking around the room. It was mostly bare, with windowless brick and sandstone walls, but there were some blankets folded on the floor as makeshift beds.

Sitting in the corner was a man. He was injured, she realized, with a large gash on his arm that was only partially bandaged. He had bright blond hair, which was partially slicked back, with the rest of it falling in uneven clumps around his forehead, neck, and ears. He wore a black vest, red shirt with the sleeves tied up to right around his elbows, red pants, and black combat boots.

The man shifted a bit, blinking open his eyes to look at the newcomer, and Cleo realized why the Blondie and her friends had been calling him Red-Eye. His eyes were completely red, save for two black irises that tracked her every move.

Cleo sighed, sitting down a few feet away from the man so as not to crowd him. His eyes stayed narrowed and fixed on her.

“You’re TangoTek, aren’t you?” she said, quietly. The man paused at that, clearly taken off-guard. He blinked owlishly at her, uncurling slightly. “I’m ZombieCleo. We talked a bit over the communicators.”

“Oh,” TangoTek said. He finally uncurled fully, wincing when he was forced to move his arm, and revealing his hands, which were tied together like hers. “Well, nice to meet you, I suppose.”

“Wish it was in better circumstances,” Cleo agreed. “You got caught coming on the island too, huh?”

“They must have seen me boating in, because I didn’t stand a chance,” Tango huffed. “They caught me pretty quick. That blond chick knows what she’s doing.”

“You can say that again,” Cleo agreed. “What happened to your arm?”

“I didn’t go easily,” Tango replied, smiling in a way that was more a baring of his teeth. “The creeper dude sliced me when he and the chick went after my communicator.”

“Oh, Creeper-Cyborg? He’s definitely got a stick up his butt, I tell you.”

TangoTek snorted, his smile turning more genuine. “Creeper-Cyborg? Really?”

“What? They wouldn’t tell me their names and I had to call them something.”

“Who’d you name the others?”

“Blonde girl I call Blondie. The white-haired dude is Ninja. The only one who gave me a name is our guard. He’s called O.”

“The white-haired dude? What white-haired dude?”

“I ran into him on my way here. You might not have seen him.”

Tango shook his head. “Nope. I guess we’re two on one now, huh?”

Cleo raised her eyebrows, incredulous. “And how exactly do you expect to get out of this situation?”

“Well, our friends are going to come over eventually. And I sincerely doubt that these guys are going to be able to take  _ everyone _ out.” He grinned, straining at the rope binding his hands. “I can’t wait to get out of here. Seriously, who goes out and attacks random strangers?!”

Cleo paused at that, thinking. 

“Someone who’s afraid,” she replied quietly. “Someone who woke up yesterday with no memories and doesn’t know who to trust.”

Tango’s grin fell, her words seeming to strike a chord in him. He opened his mouth, as if to respond, then closed it again. The silence stretched between them, neither knowing what to say.

They still hadn’t said a word when O came back to give them lunch.

* * *

XisumaVoid.

That was his name. 

It was… odd, to say the least. Keralis and he just couldn’t figure out how to pronounce the first half of his name. The former seemed to think it was “X-ih-suma,” but that didn’t sound right. Neither did “X-I-suma” or “Ecks-suma.” In the end, they had given up, cursed his pre-amnesia self, and gone with just calling him Void.

And if he was honest, he didn’t really like that part of his name. Xisuma wasn’t pronounceable, but at least it felt like it was  _ his _ . Void… didn’t. It felt impersonal, like it was something that was attached to his name as an afterthought. 

“Here we are!” 

Keralis’ words drew him out of his thoughts, and Void shielded his eyes against the sun as he stepped out into the open. The series of skyscrapers and other assorted buildings that he’d been seeing through the canopy now came into the open. They had a certain sort of amazement, making him pause and tilt back his head to take it all in.

“Who built all of this?” Void breathed.

“I… think I did, but I’m not sure,” Keralis replied. “I don’t even know how I or anyone else could’ve done it.” He started towards the small city, pointing towards where the blue waves of water peeked through. “Here, we should get to the ocean and start towards the central island. That’s where everyone is meeting up.” 

“What’s an ocean?”

Keralis looked at him, surprised. “You don’t know what an ocean is?”

“Well, there’s water over there, so I’m assuming that’s it.”

“An ocean is basically this giant expanse of salt water. There’s an island in the middle of it that’s basically the center of all our positions.” Keralis frowned as Void mouthed a silent “ah,” committing the word to memory. “That’s odd, though. Even the people who hadn’t woken up next to the ocean seemed to know what it was.”

Void shrugged, not knowing what to say. Instead, he opened up the chat, pressing the button on the single strip of gray on his armor, circling his left wrist.

25 UNREAD MESSAGES

_ <ZombieCleo> I’ve found a bunch of portals scattered about. All of them have some sort of trail leading away from them and towards something on the horizon. Kind of confused here and wondering what to do. _

_ <ZombieCleo> I need a second opinion. Should I go through the portal I’m at or see where these paths are leading? _

_ <Cubfan135> Hmmm.... tough one. _

_ <Cubfan135> How are you doing? _

_ <ZombieCleo> Pretty hungry and tired. But I can keep on going for a while. _

_ <Cubfan135> Hmmm  _

_ <Cubfan135> I’d say explore. The paths probably lead somewhere important if they’re all heading in the same direction. _

_ <ZombieCleo> Anyone else? _

_ <ZombieCleo> Hello? _

_ <Cubfan135> I don’t think anyone else is on. _

_ <ZombieCleo> Really? Mumbo and Stress were just talking to me. _

_ <Cubfan135> \\_o.o_/ _

_ <ZombieCleo> How did you do that? _

_ <Cubfan135> \\_o.o_/ _

_ <ZombieCleo> Haha _

_ <ZombieCleo> Guess what? I’m an orange belt now. Losers. _

_ <Cubfan135> ?? _

_ <MumboJumbo> Excuse me? _

_ <ZombieCleo> ;-) _

_ <Stressmonster101> We are currently trying to search for a boat. Hopefully some pre-amnesia player left one behind like they did for Tango _

_ <Grian> YOU are trying to get a boat. I'm still picking kelp out of my hair. _

_ <MumboJumbo> Now that is your own fault. _

_ <Grian> >:( _

_ <Cubfan135> Hey Cleo, how is island exploration going? _

_ <Cubfan135> Cleo? _

“It’s been a few minutes,” Keralis said aloud, glancing at him worriedly. “First TangoTek, and now her.”

“Who’s TangoTek?” Void asked. 

“He was this guy in chat, been there since we woke up. He made it to the island first, but he disappeared from chat maybe an hour and half ago. I think he and Cleo might be in trouble.”

Void frowned, unsure of what to think about the situation. He and Keralis had made it to the main city streets before their communicators updated again.

_ <GoodTimesWithScar> Guys, I hate to say it, but I’m starting to think that meeting in the central island might not be a good idea. _

_ <Stressmonster101> Yeah, I’m starting to see a trend. _

_ <Cubfan135> I think you guys are right. I’m going to look for another spot.  _

_ <Keralis1> But what about Cleo and TangoTek? We can’t leave them. _

_ <Cubfan135> You’re right, Keralis. There’s a smaller island to the southwest that’s pretty close. Want to meet there? _

_ <Keralis1> Also, I found XisumaVoid. He’s just fine and a nice dude! :) _

_ <GoodTimesWithScar> Hi XisumaVoid!  _

_ <MumboJumbo> How do you pronounce your name, anyways? _

_ <XisumaVoid> I’m… not sure. Just call me Void. _

_ <Grian> LOL _

Keralis giggled. 

“That’s just so funny to me,” he said, smiling over at him. “Don’t worry, Void, I’m sure we’ll figure it out eventually.”

Void hummed, turning off his communicator and turning up his head to take in his surroundings. The builds certainly were beautiful, looming high into the sky. He and Keralis fell into a comfortable silence as they walked, the latter guiding him towards the expanse of blue that was quickly becoming bigger and bigger, reaching out to touch the horizon.

“You’ve certainly outdone yourself here, Keralis,” Xisuma said after a while, turning to him with a smile he knew his old friend could see in his eyes. “I’m glad you decided to come back.”

Keralis stopped, blinking at him. “Excuse me?”

“What?” Void replied, confused.

“What were you just going on about?”

“Going on about what?”

“You were talking about me ‘coming back?’”

Void shrugged. “I didn’t say anything. You must have been hearing things.”

Keralis eyed him for a moment, suspicion clouding his gaze, and Void shifted. Had he really said something? No. He didn’t recall saying anything before Keralis had started going on about him talking. Finally, Keralis turned away from him with a sigh and a slight shrug, and pointed towards the blue expanse of water.

“Well, we’re here. I explored this pier yesterday; the bigger ships are just props but there’s some smaller ones we can use,” he said. 

“Sounds great!” Void replied with a smile, trying to dispel the awkwardness from their earlier dispute. 

Keralis hummed, hopping over a fence and towards the water. There was a long strip of stone and concrete going a hundred meters or so into the water. There was a large ship on its left side, laden with multicolored crates. On the right, though, the water was mostly empty, save for a medium-sized boat bobbing in the water. It appeared tiny next to the giant frigate, but it was large enough to comfortably sit five or six people. 

“Maybe we should pick up Scar and his friends on our way,” Keralis mused, tapping on his chin. “It’d make our journey a bit longer, though.”

“I don’t mind,” Void replied, finding that he really didn’t. Like the sky, something about the blue of the ocean seemed oddly… soothing. 

“Great! Let’s get going.” Keralis grinned once again, clapping his hands as he moved to stand on the strip of stone.

“Uh, Keralis?” Void said, suddenly realizing something.

“Yeah?”

“What’s a pier?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, this is DoctorSiren! Pixel wrote these chapters in advance for me to post while she is away, and so I'm sorry if the formatting of these ones are different than the previous chapters since I do not remember how they were formatted, and I don't want to mess it up :0  
> Pixel says hi, and she's really stoked about how well her fic is doing!  
> (I am so sorry, I was supposed to update this fic 3 days ago, but I forgot whOOPS)


	9. Intrepity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAHAHA
> 
> I LIVEEEE
> 
> \--For the two hours I have internet access, haha. I'm so sorry about the long wait; Siren seems to have lost the password for this account and couldn't update the fic. I figured I'd step in while I had the time. 
> 
> Also, I will be back for good around the 14th. The next update should be around then. I hope you guys like this chapter! Let me know what you think!

Grian spent the next hour and a half meditating.

Meditation was a technique that, when he’d first learned it, Grian had thought was silly and never needed to be used. Not only that, but it was perhaps the natural opposite to his personality--or, at least, how his personality had been in the beginning. He’d been too boisterous, too energetic, too… independent. He’d found it so difficult to stay in one place and actually think.

He’d learned very quickly how valuable meditation was.

Not to say that he liked meditation. In fact, he loathed it with a burning passion. He never could seem to get himself into the right state of mind very quickly at all, and after a while his mind would start to wander and his muscles twitch, begging to be used. While meditation was certainly a valuable skill when it came to the Watchers, it was one he only used when he thought it necessary.

Luckily for him, his body and mind were both so exhausted after Exae’s tests that he slipped into a meditative state so quickly he thought he might have set a new record. He sat on his bed, legs crossed and his hands on his knees, and focused himself inwards. 

Meditation was a sort of rest for the mind. It was a conscious way to calm one’s inner thoughts to a crawl, slowing the brain and letting the user rest without risking the turbulent dreams that came with sleep. Meditation helped the user find better control over their mental state, monitor their thoughts, and repair damage, such as the mental attacks Exae had put him through earlier that day.

Usually, he wouldn't meditate for so long even if his muscles weren't twitching for release, but something in his mind felt ever so slightly different, ever so slightly  _ off _ , that he spent a good long while trying to figure out what it was. He didn't know what it was, but this off-ness was  _ bothering _ him, making him feel as if he was ever so slightly off balance. 

Finally, though, he just gave up on figuring that issue out. He blinked his eyes open to see the wall opposite him, blank and empty. 

Something inside of him was disappointed about that. Grian sighed, rubbing his eyes and gently stretching his legs, stiff from the regeneration potion and sitting still for so long. He felt much better than he did when he'd first woken up, but there was still a slight throbbing in his eyes, a soreness that he knew wouldn't fade for a day or two. 

But he was more than functional, and Macan would be expecting him soon. So Grian stood up, swayed for a moment as the blood rushed from his head, and then moved to the one chest in the room. Hopefully… yes. Inside the chest were several outfits. Most of them were just different variations of the long sleeved shirt and slacks that constituted his every day outfit, but there were a few different articles near the bottom, the one he was looking for. 

Grian pulled out the outfit and began to change. 

Macan was very different from the other two Watchers in the Castle. They were the youngest of the three, and by far the most emotional and least reliant on mental powers. Macan was the one Exae and Onah turned to if they needed something physical done. That included Grian's combat training, which he assumed was what he was being summoned for today. 

It was too bad Macan hated his guts, honestly.

Anyways, physical training wasn't very conductive to the typical Watcher attire, and so, a few months (years? Months without the memory wipe) ago, Exae had gifted him a newer outfit, one Grian found he liked quite a bit and wore whenever he had the excuse to. 

First on went the green tunic, fastened together in his middle. It was sleeveless, with a silver trim, and fell to his waist, where it met his white pants. The material the pants were made of was thick yet flexible, giving it both protection and maneuverability. The hardy black boots went on next, nearly opposite the almost slipper-like material of his regular shoes. Then there were the arm guards, made of a thick black leather that covered the outer side of his forearms, circled his wrists, and protected the back of his hands.

The cloak went on last. If there was ever a cloak Grian would like, this would have been it. While the hood and shoulders were made of a single piece of fabric, below that the cloak fell into dozens of strips of cloth, varying in color from near-white to almost-black, falling in various lengths, the longest reaching his calves. The color variation was excellent for blending in with the starry Deep End and nighttime Overworld skies, and the strips were easy to move through. Back when he'd had his wings, they'd been able to slip comfortably through his tunic and the strips of fabric, unlike the tight slits of his shirt and heavy cloak. 

Grian blinked, startled by the last thought, then openly gasped.

Wait a minute. 

Where  _ were _ his wings?!

He'd had them before he'd lost his memories, before he'd escaped, for that he was sure. From the time he'd woken up in the bedrock prison to just now, though, they'd just been… gone. 

And he hadn't questioned it, hadn't even thought of it, until that one thought had just popped into his head. It was like a mental dam had burst, bringing with it new feelings and questions that he hadn't even thought to consider before.

Grian put a hand to his head, headache increasing in intensity for a moment before settling back down again. The sense of  _ wrongness _ he'd felt earlier, during his meditation, surged into awareness with it, and then fell back down with the headache.

Well. He'd had his wings before escaping, hadn't afterwards, and Sefsa and the Watchers hadn't even questioned him about it. Something must have happened while he was gone, something that resulted in him losing his wings. In all honesty, he wouldn't even be surprised if he'd found a way to cut them off himself. Though most people didn't know what Watchers were, the large lavender wings were kind of a dead giveaway that something was off with him, something not entirely human. 

No, what really disturbed him was the fact that he hadn't  _ noticed _ his wings being gone. That was something to be worried about. This wasn't just amnesia, it was something else. Maybe something related to it, but something else.

Well, there wasn't any time to be worrying about that now. He had to meet Macan in fifteen minutes, and the Courtyard was down on the first floor, between the North and East Wings, and he'd have to hurry if he wanted to get there on time.

Sefsa was gone by the time he left his room, her writing desk tidied up to make it look like no one had even used it. Even the empty bottle from the potion of regeneration was gone from where Grian had left it on the counter, and the spare droplets from when he'd drunk the water from the faucet had been smoothly wiped up.

Grian's heart lifted slightly at that. Sefsa had gone off to do some other duties, most likely summoned by the Watchers, which meant she wasn't going to be plastered to his side at all times. And if he played his cards right, got himself even ten minutes of unsupervised time… well. Even from here, he could practically feel his former quarters calling to him. 

Anyways, he was going to be late. Grian shoved any wayward thoughts out of his head, and left the room, breaking into a jog as he went. The strips of his cloak billowed out behind him as he went, and when he turned a corner Grian could help but complete a full twirl, smiling softly to himself at the familiar, comforting feeling of the light, loose fabric momentarily wrapping around him. 

Across the Castle and five flights of stairs later, Grian was pushing open the giant doors to the courtyard, heaving for breath but doing his best to contain himself. He was five minutes early. He'd made it, with time to spare at that.

The Courtyard sat in between the North and East wings, the dark purpur and light end stone bricks of the two mismatched towers pushing up high into the starry night sky. The courtyard itself was centered around a smooth bedrock platform, raised to be around half a block higher than the rest of the courtyard. Around it were a series of intertwining obsidian paths, with chorus plants reaching up to the sky, the tallest perhaps half the height of the Castle. In the right corner, nestled between the junction of the North Wing and the main body of the Castle itself was a small greenhouse. Grian couldn't help but sneak a glance at it, taking in the tilled brown soil, the carrots growing within it, and the small apple tree in the very back.

The apples looked nearly ripe. They hadn't even started growing, last Grian remembered.

He jerked himself away from that kind of thought almost immediately. Macan may rarely use the full extent of their telepathic powers, but even they would be able to sense the swirling thoughts within his head, weak as he was now.

So he turned his attention back to the center of the courtyard. In the very back, between the two Wings, an archway, only around a story tall, joined the two together, creating a barrier of sorts between the Castle and the emptiness of the Deep End beyond it. Two sets of endstone pillars held up each side of the arch, creating a small path, paved in bedrock, between the North and East Wings. The air was still and cold, slightly thinner than in the castle and much more thin than the overworld, but he was more than used to it and it garnered little more than a passing thought.

And in the center of it all stood Macan. They, too, had changed into their combat outfit, though their tunic was the smooth silver of a pure-blooded Watcher compared to Grian's green. They had not opted to fully pull back their hair today, either, the foremost strands tied back as usual, but the rest falling down to their mid-back. They were holding their signature weapon, a longsword perhaps half the size of their body, the blade forged out of a mixture of bedrock and obsidian. The two elements, silver-gray and dark purple, wove delicate threads into the blade, giving it a shimmering-like appearance.

Grian couldn't help but gulp, looking at the weapon. Still, he did his best to put up his mental defenses, and walked towards Macan, stopping just short of the bedrock platform they were standing on, and fell into a salute.

"Xelqua," Macan said by way of greeting. 

"Macan," Grian replied softly, keeping his eyes trained on the ground.

"||𝙹⚍ ᔑ∷ᒷ ᓭ𝙹... !¡╎ℸ ̣ ╎⎓⚍ꖎ."

Grian shivered at the Watcher's words. 

"As you say."

"!¡╎ℸ ̣ ╎⎓⚍ꖎ." There was a loud clatter of two objects hitting the bedrock platform, just shy of his head. To his credit, Grian didn't even flinch. "||𝙹⚍'∷ᒷ ꖎ⚍ᓵꖌ|| ℸ ̣ 𝙹 ʖᒷ e ̇/ᔑᒷ'ᓭ リᒷ∴ᒷᓭℸ ̣ 𝙹ʖᓭᒷᓭᓭ╎𝙹リ. ||𝙹⚍ ᔑ∷ᒷ ⚍リ⎓𝙹∷ℸ ̣ ⚍リᔑℸ ̣ ᒷ ℸ ̣ 𝙹 リ𝙹ℸ ̣ ʖᒷ ᒲ╎リᒷ."

"I live to serve."

"Do not lie to me." Grian did flinch at that as Macan switched back to English. "Don't worry, player. I will make sure that statement comes true. Soon enough. Look up, and prepare for battle."

Grian did as he was told, returning to his feet. His two blades had been tossed on the ground in front of him, twin daggers a foot or so long. They were forged of pure obsidian, the blades jagged and deadly sharp, curving slightly at the tips. He rushed forward, grabbing them just in time to deflect a blow from Macan.

Ah, yes. Two daggers against a broadsword. Grian had never liked those odds, and those odds were even worse, now, with the grips of his blades all off (too small, why were they  _ too small _ ) and the throbbing of his head.

But on the other hand, this was normal. He knew how to fight Macan, just as Macan knew how to fight him. As such, Grian anticipated the sword strike coming for his neck and ducked out of the way, rolling over to the side and striking. His dagger slipped harmlessly through the strips of Macan's cloak, and a moment later Grian was slipping out of their reach. They paused there for a moment, Grian breathing heavily.

_ Right back into training, eh?  _ He thought, eyes trained on Macan's sword as they brought it to rest. 

"Come, 𝙹ʖᓭᒷᓭᓭ╎𝙹リ," Macan said, voice jeering. "Exae says your mind has grown weak. Has your body done the same?"

Grian gritted his teeth, sending the not-so-quiet challenge, and raised his blades. This was a test of endurance. He could do endurance.

Macan's wings flared wide, and with a single flap, buffeting him with wind, they were upon him from above. Grian brought his blades up to meet them, smoothly using them to shift the sword's trajectory to the right, moving his own body to the left so that the weapon bounced harmlessly off of the bedrock platform. 

He pivoted on his foot in the next step, bending over, chest to his knees, to dodge the next strike passing dangerously close over his head. He sliced upwards, towards Macan's arms, but by that point the Watcher had hit the ground and was able to pivot his sword around like it was a toothpick. Grian had only a split second to duck his head before the hilt of their sword caught him on the side of the skull, causing his headache to flare up. 

But there was no time to dwell on that. Grian pushed the pain away and went in for a strike. Again, Macan shifted their body so his blades went through the cloak. 

They traded blows like this for a while, the two of them in a delicate, familiar dance. It was… almost comforting, if sparring with Macan could ever be called comforting. Grian knew he would lose —not only did he always lose, but he was tired and distracted anyways—and there was a strange sense of comfort in that. He knew what was going to happen, and there wasn't much he could do to stop it. Of all the Watchers, Macan was the easiest to predict, the easiest to understand. 

The absence of his wings, though… that did bother him. Now that Grian knew they were gone, it was practically all he could think about. He couldn't gain the same aerial advantage as Macan, forcing him to resort to the techniques he'd developed before being fully accepted by the Watchers. 

Macan, though, was fully prepared for this, and had also adjusted their technique. Why were they so accepting for this? Did they all just assume that he knew they were gone?

The questions distracted him long enough for Macan to point their sword at his throat.

"╎ ||╎ᒷꖎ↸," he gasped, now sporting several bruises and cuts, and looked down. 

"Hmpf." Macan breathed heavily through their nose. Grian could feel their mind brush against his, but it was only a brief touch before it was gone again. "You need to come to appreciate me."

"I don't understand."

"Why would you?" Macan drew their sword away, making Grian blink in surprise. Usually sparring with Macan ended in a respawn. "Look at me." He did as he was told, watching as the Watcher, held the sword, point down, at their side. "I suggest you watch Sesfa  _ very _ closely. I sincerely doubt she has your best interests in mind."

Grian had to force himself not to gape at that. What? Why had Macan told him that? Why did they even care?

But the Watcher was already gone, molding into the shadows of the chorus fruit trees, leaving Grian alone with his thoughts. And many, many questions.


	10. Curiosity

_The room was light and cheerful._

_He peeked into it through the door, the heavy spruce wood just barely being able to be moved with his meager strength. Inside, he could see different holographic panels floating in the air, with a murky figure standing behind them, hands reaching out to touch the screens every once in a while._

_Taking a deep breath, he crept inside, crouching low to the ground. He giggled a little bit as he came up to the figure behind the screens, eager to surprise them._

_"Hello there, little one!" The figure said. He groaned, then giggled again. He could never seem to sneak up on her._

_A hand patted his hair, and he looked up to see the figure, more than twice his size now that he stood next to her. She was a woman, entering into her elder years, he could tell, with her blonde hair flecked with gray, long and straight against her back. But other than that he couldn't seem to register the rest of her features. Her face was a dim blur, her clothes there but nothing more than a yellow and white blob._

_But he didn't care about any of that. He just giggled again, holding out his hands._

_"I wanna play!" He exclaimed, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "I finished my chores and Mommy said I could come and play!"_

_"Oh did she?" The elder woman laughed too, bopping a finger against his nose. "Are you sure? I don't know if I want little boys getting underfoot while I work…"_

_"Noooooo," he cried, rubbing at his nose. "I can be good! I wanna play!"_

_"Oh, how could I ever say no to a face like that?" The woman sighed. She waved a hand, and the screens surrounding her disappeared. She reached… somewhere, and pulled out a small metal bracelet. "What do you want to play?"_

_"I wanna play the matching game!"_

_"And what do we say if we want to play?"_

_He pouted a bit, then spoke again: "_ May _I play the matching game?"_

_"Yes, yes you may." The woman took his left wrist, fastening the bracelet around it. He pressed a button on it, watching as one of his own holographic screens popped up. Like the features of the woman, he couldn't register the words on the screen, but again, he didn't care, happy to play._

  
  


Void woke up to a hand shaking his shoulder, the words "I wanna play," on his lips. He blinked a few times, still half asleep, and then registered Keralis' face above his own.

"You fell asleep," he said by way of explanation. "It's been around an hour, and we're at the southern coast. I need help looking for Scar and the others."

Oh. Right. Void tried to rub at his eyes, blinking in surprise when he couldn't, then realized he was still wearing his helmet. He'd been dreaming again, hadn't he? 

"I… had a dream," he said aloud. "Something about playing. It felt… so real."

"Really?" Keralis said, tilting his head. "Do you think it was? Maybe a memory or something?"

"Maybe. I was just a little kid, wanting to play a game. I don't remember a lot about it, though."

"Let's talk about it later, then. Maybe it's a clue to what happened to us." Keralis held out a hand, and Void took it, steadying his feet against the rocking of the ship. 

They'd left port late in the morning, after chatting with GoodtimeswithScar and his friends to try and figure out where they were, in order to pick them up. Their search for a boat had been fruitless, and with Keralis' ship large enough for house quite a few more people, they had gladly given a description of their coordinates. Now, as Void checked the sun, it was early afternoon, maybe 2 or 3. To his right he could see a jungle, though unlike the one he and Keralis had been in, this one came right up to the coast, with only a thin strip of sand separating it from the water.

"Getting the hang of the ship?" Void asked, walking up to the bow, Keralis following just behind. The man nodded, taking the steering wheel and turning them closer to the shoreline. 

"It's easier than it looks," he replied. "And half the time my hands seem to know what they're doing, anyways." 

Void nodded at that, turning his attention to the jungle. He didn't see much, just a parrot and some pigs, and he let his mind wander a bit as he searched. 

His dream was bothering him. Unlike the muddled deja vu he'd gotten from the first time he'd slept, this one made him feel bittersweet, though for the life of him, he couldn't figure out why. Were his dreams actually memories, reaching out to him as he slept? Was he just a vivid dreamer? Or was something else at play?

Void sighed. He didn't know, but then again, most people didn't seem to know much, either. It was honestly quite frustrating. 

Things were quiet for a while, the only sounds coming from the jungle, the ocean waves, and the putter of the boat's engine. Void took the time to settle and think a bit, but eventually the search turned a little dull.

Dull, that was, until he caught sight of a splash of color against the greens and browns of the jungle. Void focused his attention on that blotch, watching as it turned into a purple coat waving in the wind, clearly worn by a player. He could see several other people with them, too, a little too far away to make out without the right colors.

"Over there!" He called to Keralis, pointing to the group of people. "That has to be them."

Keralis narrowed his eyes, then grinned and nodded. 

"That would be them!" He agreed. "Mind letting them know?"

"Of course not." Void said, already pulling up his communicator.

_ <XisumaVoid> Are any of you guys wearing a purple coat? I think I see you. _

_ <MumboJumbo> Yes, Scar is! _

_ <Stressmonster101> Yeah, I see you!! _

_ <Grian> FREEDOM _

Void chuckled a bit at Grian's last message, turning off his communicator and looking back to the shore, which was rapidly coming closer. He could see the four people gathered there much more clearly, now, and could even hear their distant shouts. 

Keralis pulled a lever, and the boat stalled, still a ways away from shore.

"I don't think it's a good idea to get any closer," he said. "Look at how shallow the water gets. The ship might hit something." He chuckled. "They'll have to swim out a bit, I'm afraid. Let me tell them."

_ <Keralis1> The water's too shallow for us to go any further. You'll have to swim. _

_ <GoodtimeswithScar> Aw, man. I like my clothes… _

_ <MumboJumbo> I brought books with me. How do I bring them without getting wet? _

_ <XisumaVoid> Maybe make a raft? _

_ <Stressmonster101> Don't worry! We'll figure out a way! _

Void peered more closely at the people, and indeed, one of them was sporting a rather large bag and was retreating into the forest a ways. He wore a short sleeved shirt and slacks, and Void assumed that he must be MumboJumbo.

The man in the purple coat went after MumboJumbo, while the only woman in the group and a man in a gray t-shirt remained on the beach, waving at them. Keralis waved back. 

Eventually, the purple coat man and MumboJumbo returned, this time with a crude raft in their hands. The man in the gray shirt and the woman waded out to them first, while the man in the purple coat and MumboJumbo followed more slowly, carefully moving the raft with the book bag between them. 

The man in the gray shirt reached them first. Void and Keralis bent over the side to help him up, and he flopped onto the leather seats with a gasp, a puddle already forming underneath him.

"Thanks, guys," he said. "I owe you one."

"Oh, it was the neighborly thing to do," Keralis replied with a smile. Void didn't say anything, slightly off put with how the man was staring at him. 

But then the woman was calling to get pulled up, and Void returned his attention to the ocean, helping Keralis pull her up. She thanked them profusely for their help, and then the two returned to bring in the mostly-dry book bag and the two men that came in last.

Well, he thought. Combined with the rope climbing, he was _definitely_ going to feel this tomorrow.

As Keralis returned to the wheel and turned them north, towards the island, the newcomers introduced themselves. The man with the books was MumboJumbo, though apparently he preferred to just be called Mumbo. The man in the purple coat was Scar, the woman Stress, and the man in the gray shirt Grian. 

"What's in your books, Mumbo?" Keralis asked, once all the introductions were all said and done. "They seem pretty important."

"They are," Mumbo agreed, pulling out a medium-sized, leather bound notebook. "Apparently I wrote semi-regularly in a journal before the whole amnesia thing. Other books are just notes on subjects that I thought were interesting. I haven't had a chance to read everything yet, but what I have has been pretty helpful." He gestured to Void. "You're… Ecks-suma, right?"

"Just call me Void. We haven't figured out how to pronounce the first part of my name yet."

"Oh, thanks. Anyways, my journal mentioned how I helped fix your armor once, so it was kinda easy to assume that out of the two of you, Void was the one in armor. Plus, I can also infer we were friends, considering how I spoke of you." He folded his hands, his dark eyes glittering. "It's quite fascinating, really."

"Nerd," Grian teased under his breath, just loud enough to be heard. Stress elbowed him in the gut. 

"Why do you need all that armor, anyways?" Scar asked, looking genuinely curious. "That stuff looks like the real deal."

"Well, I need the helmet to breathe," Void shrugged, almost self-conscious. He glanced down at his armor. From the firm yellow chestplate down to the dark yellow boots stained brown from the jungle floor, not an inch of skin was shown. "Other than that…" he shrugged.

Scar nodded, accepting the explanation. 

"Well, I think we'll need some form of a plan by the time we reach the smaller island," Stress announced. "I mean, we need to figure out what happened to Tango and Cleo, but not get ourselves lost, too."

"Cub might have a plan," Mumbo put in. "He's been good with those so far."

"Maybe," Stress conceded, still hesitant. 

"Either way," Void said. "We'll need to be careful going forward. Just because we're nice doesn't mean everyone else will be."

* * *

They reached the smaller island around a half hour or so later. By the end of it, everyone had settled into each other's presences and gone off into pairs. Scar and Keralis sat next to each other at the bow, the former serving as navigation while the latter drove. Grian and Stress were chatting at the stern, bird and fish watching as the boat sputtered along.

Void found himself spending his time with Mumbo, going through the man's journals and books. The tall man was actually rather nice to spend time with, and Void definitely understood how their past selves had been friends. Mumbo certainly was book-smart, with most of his books about ingenious, often over complicated redstone contraptions. 

What he did notice, though, was that he had trouble reading.

It was like reading in a language one was just learning. Void could figure out most of the smaller words, but oftentimes, especially when going over the redstone blueprints, he had to have Mumbo read the prints out loud. Luckily, the mustached man didn't seem to mind, and was more than willing to go a little slower when deciphering the books so Void could keep up. 

Finally, Scar pointed out a landmass coming into view over the horizon. Sure enough, a small, sandy island came into view. Further away, a much larger island loomed, with several large buildings peeking into sight. 

The ocean floor rose up sharply, which meant that Keralis was able to get very close to the island, close enough that most of them only got their knees wet when wading to the island. 

There was a chest and two barrels on the island, along with a purple portal that Keralis explained to be rather common in the area. There was a sign on the highest bit of sand, reading _"Welcome back to the Season 7 Spawn! Have a boat! ~Joehills."_

"Who's Joe Hills?" Grian asked, already going through one of the barrels. 

"Season 7?" Stress echoed.

"Why couldn't we just have one of these in the jungle?" Scar sighed. 

"Well, we all have a ton of questions," Mumbo said, sending Void a tired look. "What else is new, really?"

Void hummed, opening up the chest in the middle. There were some bread and stone tools, along with a variety of boats. He picked one up, watching as the miniature floated in his hand. No number was whispered in his mind, but he figured that might be why all the boats weren't stacked.

"How do you ride a boat as small as this?" Grian questioned. He'd pulled out one of the boats from his barrel as well, and was watching it almost suspiciously.

"I think you just do this," Void replied. He motioned downwards like he had with the wool blocks, and sure enough, a small wooden boat, complete with oars, popped down onto the ground. 

Scar and Mumbo both yelped, caught by surprise at the sudden appearance, and Keralis flinched. 

"How did you _do_ that?!" Scar exclaimed, looking up at him. Suddenly a little embarrassed, Void found himself shrugging.

"I… figured it out before I met you guys," he said, explaining how he'd used the wool blocks in his chest to rappel down from the tower he'd been trapped in. 

"Curious," Mumbo mused, kicking the boat slightly, as if to test its integrity. "If it works for boat and wool blocks, I suppose most things can come into existence this way. How do they get so small and weightless, though?"

Void shrugged. 

"Well, it might help explain how all of these buildings were built," Keralis added, thoughtful. "It's easier to bring up these weightless items than their larger counterparts."

They stayed in a circle like that for a while, talking about the developments. Stress and Scar explained what they had done before meeting them, and Keralis did the same. Finally, a small ship, around the same size as the one Void had placed, can be up over the horizon. 

"That must be Cub!" Grian exclaimed excitedly, shading his eyes against the sun, which was swiftly starting its descent. Sure enough, soon the dot grew into a person, and that person into a man. 

Cub seemed to be, by far, the eldest in the group. He was balding, with a long gray beard, but his age definitely didn't stop him from being in shape, if how easily he was rowing the small ship was anything to speak about. He wore some pharaoh-like clothing, and waved at them as he arrived. 

Introductions and backstories were repeated once again, but Cub didn't let the conversation go far before he was pulling out rolled-up maps from the back of his boat and spreading them out from the sand. 

"Okay," he began, kneeling down onto the sand. Void and Mumbo followed his lead while everyone else crowded behind them. "Don't get me wrong, it's been nice to meet all of you in person, but we have two people missing who are probably in danger. We need to figure out a plan to get them back."

"Do you have any ideas?" Stress asked, looking more closely at the map. 

Cub nodded. "Some. I think there are some monsters, or maybe players, on the island. For whatever reason, they're taking players who go on the island alive."

"I would lean towards players," Grian put in. "From what Stress and I have seen, monsters always go straight for the kill."

"Either way, we'll need to find a way to get on the island without getting captured. Do any of you have weapons?"

"Grian has a diamond sword," said Scar. "I have an iron axe and Stress has a diamond one. And we have some armor." He wiggled a leg, which was covered in a pair of diamond leggings.

"Void? Keralis?"

Keralis held up a pair of empty hands while Void shook his head. 

"I saw a stone sword in the chest, though. I could use that," he said.

"I've got an iron sword," Cub finished. "And some diamond armor I can pass to you, Keralis. I think we should split up and try getting on different parts of the island. We can message each other if we find anything."

"That sounds like a good idea," Stress agreed. "We could split into two pairs and one trio."

Cub nodded. "Keralis, Scar, and I, perhaps? Scar and I can protect Keralis since he doesn't have a weapon."

"Mumbo and I, then?" Void suggested. Mumbo nodded at him, and he smiled in relief, glad that it was hidden by the helmet.

"And that leaves Stress and I!" Grian grinned, swinging an arm around the shorter woman, who playfully shrugged him off. 

"Teams are set, then?" Cub said, glancing over to get their consent. "Alright. I think a good idea would be to go at night. That way we'll have the cover of darkness to our advantage. Here is the best map of the area I could find…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! My internet hiatus is officially over. Now I will have access to the account all through the week and I can write again! It's amazing to be back and I can't wait to get caught up in everything I've missed.
> 
> But just as a forewarning, my schedule is going to be very, very busy from now on. As in, I'm probably only going to be watching Grian for HC now and struggling to find time to write on top of it. So updates will probably be a lot slower than they were before the hiatus. Sorry guys. I'm doing everything that I can, but life is life.
> 
> As it is, feel free to ask me absolutely anything in the comments below, whether it be about myself or the story and how I came up with it. I'm so ecstatic to finally be back that I just want to interact with you all.


	11. Quite the Peculiar One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got this done in a week and a half. I'm so proud.

The group spent the rest of the day on the so-called “Season 7 Spawn” island, preparing to go to the main island. Cub had suggested they wait until dusk, when any possible players were likely to be growing tired and before the monsters started to appear, to go forward with the plan, and they had all readily agreed. In the meantime, they’d all crowded together and gotten to know both themselves and each other a lot better.

Grian had to admit, Cub was pretty cool. He’d definitely taken on the role of leader of their small group, despite arriving last, and had fallen into the position easily and without complaint. He’d come up with most of the plan, but was also open to input and criticism here and there. His outfit was a little… odd, but they all had their good fun teasing him about it, even Cub himself. 

Keralis was really nice, too. He seemed really harmless, and was almost always smiling and trying to help out. He was also the best navigator and sailor they had, though he went to great lengths to say he wasn’t that good. Nevertheless, when Cub asked for help figuring out the position of the central island relative to Spawn, Keralis was the first one at his side. He seemed to have a natural eye for the craft.

And then there was Void, the last of the new people he’d met. Grian wasn’t really afraid of him, nor did he not like him. Void seemed to be just fine. But there was something about him that felt…  _ off _ . Something that tickled the back of his mind, too faint to truly understand, and he didn’t like it. Maybe it was how he was covered in bee-like armor? Or that fact that he needed his helmet to breathe? Void was the only one so far who had that issue.

No, that didn’t feel right. Grian eventually gave up on trying to figure out what the “bothering” feeling was, and focused himself on preparing and having fun with his newfound friends. They had a late lunch of bread and cheese from the chests, and while Keralis and Cub went over the maps, Grian went with Stress to boat race. 

And,  _ no, _ they were not wasting time! They were learning how to use the row boats! Keralis’ machine-driven ship couldn’t take them everywhere, after all. Mumbo was much too stiff about those sorts of things. 

He won, by the way.

Soon enough, or perhaps too soon, the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon. 

“Does everyone understand the plan?” Cub asked as he rolled up the last of the maps. Keralis took them from him and put them in one of the barrels. 

“Yes,  _ sir _ ,” Stress replied, emphasizing the last word teasingly. Grian chuckled as Cub shook his head. 

“Alright then, you two. Let’s spread out. Stay safe, and don’t use your communicators unless you absolutely have to.”

Grian nodded, waving to Void and Mumbo as they moved to the rowboat on the east side of the island. He and Stress moved towards the one on the west, while Keralis, Cub, and Scar took the larger motorboat.

The plan was relatively simple. Cub, Keralis, and Scar would act as bait/distraction; since the motorboat was rather loud, they’d draw the attention of the islands’ inhabitants. Mumbo, Void, Grian, and Stress, in teams of two, would take the slower but much more silent rowboats to sneak into the island and find Cleo and Tango. They’d skedaddle once their two missing friends were found.

“Race you to the island,” Grian challenged Stress, soft enough that the others didn’t hear them. 

“You’re on,” Stress back with a grin. As the motorboat rumbled to life, cutting apart the silence of the approaching dusk, they got in their respective rowboats, grabbing the oars and beginning to paddle. As they banked left to go around to the island’s western tip, he could see Keralis’ motorboat begin to turn straight, and, more distantly, the two small dots that were Mumbo and Void. 

There was a soft giggle in the wind, and Grian turned to see Stress taking advantage of his distraction and swiftly pulling ahead. 

“Hey!” He called out despite himself, and pumped his arms harder, trying to catch up. 

He got close, a few times, but in the end his brief pause had given Stress the handhold she’d needed to reach the shore first, practically crashing against the mycelium soil.

“I win!” She cried, and Grian shushed her, still pouting from his loss. She blushed, and then nodded, slipping out of her boat. Grian followed her lead, pulling out his sword and scanning the area around him. 

They’d landed on a rather underdeveloped area of the island. While he could see some buildings poking out in the distance, the area near them was empty, damp and swampy, rising up in small hills and sloping downwards into the ocean water, which split into small streams and ponds as it met the shore.

“Where should we start?” Grian said, ducking down behind one of the mycelium hills. Stress knelt next to him, and peeked over the hill’s crest, scanning the horizon. 

“See that?” She said, pointing to the east. Grian moved so he could see what she was gesturing towards. Sitting on top of one of the largest buildings in the area was a set of white rectangular buildings, all bunched up together so that their sides met.

“Yeah,” He responded. “Want to start there?”

“If there are any monsters, maybe they’d be in the bigger buildings.”

Grian shrugged, adjusting his grip on his sword. “Your guess is as good as mine. Ladies first?”

Stress sent him a low look, but nevertheless took the lead as they dashed across the open marsh. Mud splattered his calves as they sprinted, but neither wanted to risk slowing down. By the time they were scrambling up the hillside, Grian found himself really out of breath, and both of them seemed to be tiring.

Finally, they reached the closest of the white concrete walls. They leaned against it, and this time Grian took the lead, shimmying with his back to the wall to try and disguise himself as much as possible. Soon enough, they came up on the edge of the wall, and he stilled, taking a chance and peeking around it.

“See anything?” Stress whispered from behind. Grian pursed his lips. They seemed to have come up on the buildings’ entrance; a gray asphalt road led up to a huge garage that opened up, and further beyond that several more of the merged buildings jutted out and blocked the rest of his view. There were no players in sight.

“Nope,” he replied after a moment. He stood up straighter and dashed into the open once more, trusting that Stress would follow suit. Her footsteps confirmed that trust, and together they sprinted inside of the garage, finding themselves facing a large truck. Behind it were several huge containers, both several times his height. A more miscellaneous arrangement of shelves and wiring littered the ceiling, floor, and walls, giving the interior an industrial feeling to it. 

Grian ran up behind the truck, pausing to catch his breath once he’d made it. For a moment, he and Stress sat there in silence, before the short-hair woman tapped his shoulder.

“Look over there,” she whispered, pointing out past the garage opening.

It was a good thing they had chosen a building on a hill, Grian realized. Even peeking out from behind the truck, he could see a good portion of the island sprawling out before them. There was a lake at the base of the road as it met the base of the hill, and taking up most of it was a victorian-styled barge, with warm yellow lights and clear glass. Behind it was a plaza, with four beams of light shooting out from each corner to meet in the middle. He could see part of a huge brick building to the left as well, partially out of sight.

And he could just barely make out a figure dashing out from the barge. They were too far away to make out any distinguishing features, but they were definitely player-shaped, and Grian thought he could see a weapon in their hand.

“Think it might be Mumbo or Void?” He asked. 

“They’re too far away to have gotten this close already,” Stress replied with a shake of the head. “Besides, this person’s alone.”

“So we  _ are  _ facing players.”

“Yeah. I wonder if their presence is what made Cleo and Tango go offline.”

Probably. Grian didn’t get to voice that thought aloud, though, as a knife impaled itself approximately six inches from his left shoulder. He and Stress yelped, and he jolted up to his feet, gripping his sword tightly as he tried to determine where the blade had come from.

How many people were there? Suddenly he realized that Cub’s plan had relied on there  _ not _ being a ton of people holed up on the island. What if this place was crawling with them? What if they still had their memories, and actually knew how to fight?

“Aw, man. I thought I was getting better at that.”

Grian’s head snapped up to the rafters in the ceiling, where the unfamiliar voice came from. Stress must have followed his motion, because a moment later they sucked in a breath in unison. 

There was a man sitting up in the rafters. Grian couldn’t see too much of him, but his legs were swinging out below him. He had white hair, that he could tell, but the rest was mostly obscured in shadow. 

“Really,” the man continued, as if he  _ hadn’t _ just almost killed him. “I hit a target just like that a few hours ago. I was hoping this knife throwing thing would come a bit more easily.”

“Why did you just try to slice my throat?!” Grian shot back. 

“Ah, you would’ve revived anyway, right? No big deal.”

His forehead flashed briefly with the phantom pain of what he’d experienced when he’d first woken up, “That doesn’t mean it wouldn’t have hurt!”

“Really?” At that, the man seemed contemplative. “Huh. Doc said it didn’t hurt when he died…”

“Why were you trying to kill us, anyways?!” Stress exclaimed. “We’re just trying to find our friends!”

“Friends?” At this, the man perked up. 

“ZombieCleo? TangoTek?” Stress waved her axe in the air for emphasis. “They disappeared after they came here. I wouldn’t be surprised if that was because of you.”

The man snorted. “ _ Oh _ . You’re with them. That makes things easier. Say, did you guys happen to lose you memories the other day?”

“Yes,” Grian replied. Part of him felt relieved that this man was in the same situation as him. On the other…

There was a clear trend now. No one knew what the heck was going on.

“Well, that makes things easier. Maybe you two can convince Doc and Symmie to stop being so paranoid.”

“Who now?” Stress questioned. 

The man didn’t reply immediately, instead standing up and hopping right out of the rafters. Grian jerked forwards, as if to catch him, on instinct－that was much too high of a fall to take without some sort of horrific injury－but he was too far away to be of any realistic help. As it was, the man fell silently into one of the huge containers, the impact a soft crunching rather than the hard crack Grian was inspecting.

“What is  _ up _ with this man?” Stress muttered under her breath. Grian just shrugged. He honestly had no clue. One moment he’s trying to kill them, the next he’s going on about paranoia in some other players and asking for their help. 

After a few awkward moments, the man popped up over the side of the container, looking relatively unharmed－save for the fact that he was covered, head to toe, in gravel.

“Guess that’s what’s in the box,” Stress said dryly. 

“Indeed!” The man said cheerfully. “Sorry ‘bout trying to kill you; I thought dying didn’t hurt and we kinda want you off the island.” With that, he jumped off the edge, dropped around seven meters, landed in a roll and popped back up as if nothing had happened. He ran a hand through his hair, shaking off some of the gravel bits in his hair, then brushed himself off a few times. 

“Okay, okay, I forgive you,” Grian said, not sure if he was being genuine or not but wanting to move this conversation along before this man changed his mind again and did some other unexpected action. “Could you maybe explain what’s going on? My friends and I woke up without our memories. We were just trying to meet up here to figure out what happened.”

“I knew it!” The man said. Grian got the impression that under his mask, he was smiling. “See, that’s what I thought after a while, too. But Doc wasn’t taking any risks, you get it?”

“Who’s Doc?” Stress asked.

“Hm, he’s someone you should probably meet. Hopefully he won’t kill you.”

“ _ Hopefully _ ?”

“To be fair, you  _ are _ a bunch of strangers just showing up unannounced. I mean, I’d like to think I’m one of the more reasonable of our little gang here. Be lucky you ran into me.” Stress and Grian shared an uncertain glance. “Doc’s got a bit of a stick up his butt anyways. Symmie’s a bit more reasonable. Just don’t offend her. She’s quite handy with that bow of hers.” He clapped his hands. “Alright, then. Let’s go find Doc!”

Stress turned to Grian as the man pivoted on one foot and began walking out the garage, and tilted her head, expression contorted in a “should we really do this?”

Grian shrugged, tilting his head in “what other choice do we have?”

Stress sighed, and together they took off after the man, who turned and waited for them as they caught up, then moved again. He made no sound as he walked, footsteps silent, and Grian realized why he hadn’t noticed the man the first time.

“What’s your name, anyway?” Stress asked, a little awkwardly. It looked like she was trying to break some of the tension, but the way she was tightly gripping her axe kind of ruined any effort she was trying to put in. 

Whatever tension there was, though, didn’t seem to bother the man in the slightest.

“Oh, I’m Ethos.” He said. “I think. My bracelet said my full name is Ethoslab, but honestly it’s a little too long for me.”

“There are names on the bracelets?” Grian asked just as Stress exclaimed “Have you been watching our communications?!”

Ethos turned to her, tilting his head. “Yeah, if you take them off, and what communications?”

“We can take off the bracelets?” Grian muttered, inspecting his more closely. 

“It’s a long story,” Stress sighed. 

Sure enough, as Ethos and Stress exchanged a few more words, Grian found a small latch on the underside of his bracelet, small and easily blending in with the rest of the metal casing. He picked at it, and after a moment, it popped off, separating into two semicircles attached on one end. He peered closely at the interior, and sure enough,  _ “Grian” _ was inscribed in small block letters.

“Whaddya know,” he mused, putting the bracelet back on. He, Stress, and Ethos were close to the bottom of the hill, now, and were closing in on the barge. He looked to his left, the brick building from earlier coming into clearer view. It was truly a sight to behold; but then again, he mused as he looked over the rest of the island, so were most of the buildings he’d seen here.

“Alrighty…” Ethos paused as they passed the barge, tapping his foot. “Where would good ol’ Doccy be…”

“We saw someone over here a few minutes ago,” Stress supplied, trying to be helpful. “They were running that way.” She pointed over to the plaza with the beams of light shooting up to the sky. 

“That’ll work!” Ethos broke out into a run, his movements once again completely silent. Grian and Stress took off after him.

The wooden paths around the barge soon transformed into a crisp white marble as they trio made their way into the plaza. Ethos slowed to a walk again as they made their way through, and Grian took a split second to take the place in. It was beautiful.

“Do you know anything about this place?” He asked, jogging for a moment to catch up to Ethos, who had drawn ahead. “It’s breathtaking.”

Ethos shrugged. “It’s a shopping district, or at least that’s what the signs say. Apparently a bunch of people own these places. Most of them we don’t know much about yet, but that place we were just in is a concrete shop owned by some people named Bee-suma and Bee-ralis, though,” He waved a hand. “I’m of the opinion those are just nicknames.”

“Think that last guy might be Keralis?” Stress mused, looking over to Grian, who shrugged.

“Maybe? I dunno.”

“Who’s Keralis?” Ethos asked.

“One of the people we came here with,” Grian replied. “He was out with Cub and－oh,  _ no _ .”

Void and Mumbo were on the island.  _ Void and Mumbo _ were on the island and they’d  _ just _ seen someone running in the same direction they were going to land. Ethos said  _ he _ was the reasonable one and he’d already tried to kill them, who knew what this ‘Doc’ and ‘Symmie’ would do….

He took off at a sprint a split second later, ignoring the surprised and questioning shouts of Ethos and Stress as they scrambled to keep up. He turned onto a cobblestone path, swinging his head around to try and catch sight of his two friends. He passed two more building-stores and approached another at the end of the path, with glass bubbles rising out of the top. He raced around it and into the mycelium, up over a hill and－

“MUMBO! VOID!” He screamed at the top of his lungs, whipping out his sword. There were four people huddled together at the top of the hill. He saw Mumbo first, him being the closest, kneeling on the ground with a hand to his head. Standing over him was a woman with long, straight blond hair, holding a sword to his neck. Grian sucked in a breath and glanced to the side. The woman had to be Symmie, so that meant Doc was…

And suddenly he realized what was going on. 

Void currently had his arms locked around the neck of a humanoid. ‘Doc’ (if it was Doc), wasn’t… well, he certainly wasn’t human. His skin was a mottled green, with dark brown hair and a cybernetic arm and partially robotic head. Currently one of his arms was pinned down by Void’s leg, the other trying and failing to get out of the hold. At first it looked hilarious, since Doc was quite a bit larger than Void, but the position also was also working ridiculously well in holding the player down.

Both Symmie and Void seemed to be in a deadlock, both glaring at each other and looking  _ alarmingly _ prepared to kill their hostages.

“Symmie! Doc!” Ethos cried out a moment later, having crested the hill only a few seconds after Grian. Stress soon followed suit, placing her hands on her knees to try and catch her breath. “I was right, see?! These people don’t want to hurt us!”

“Tell that to Armor-Man, Ethos!” Symmie, whose identity Grian had correctly guessed, snapped, not taking her eyes off of Void. Grian wished he could see what his ally was thinking－from this far away the sun glinted off his visor and obscured his face. “I’ll let go once he decides not to kill Doc!”

“I suggest you let go of Mumbo first, False,” Void replied, voice cool and even. Grian blinked, wondering who  _ False _ was, while Symmie’s expression contorted into some mixture of fear and surprise before it turned back to anger.

“Guys! We don’t have to fight!” Stress exclaimed. She stood up straight and walked between them, raising her hands placatingly. “False, Ethos is with us; we negotiated a truce.” She turned around. “Void,  _ please _ let Doc go.”

For a moment, neither hostile party moved. Then, Symmie glanced at Ethos, who nodded at her, and she muttered something under her breath, dropping Mumbo, who was looking around confusedly (ah, there was blood on his face. A concussion would explain the confusion). Void took a second longer, before suddenly he went limp. Doc shoved his way out of the armored man’s grip, stalking towards Symmie, who met him in the middle. 

As Ethos went to meet with his team, Grian rushed to Mumbo’s side, Stress following a second later. The taller man groaned, struggling to push himself into a sitting position. He drew his hand away from his face, and sure enough, his fingers left red, revealing a gash on his temple that was quickly turning a mixture of red and purple.

“Ouch,” Grian hissed under his breath, before raising his voice. “You good, man?”

“Uhh…” Mumbo swayed a bit, blinking his eyes as if trying to clear them. “Thhhhhhink I guh hit. Gimme a sssec.”

Stress clucked her tongue and bent down to examine him closer. Grian drew back to give her some space, looking over at the Island Trio, as he decided to refer to them as. Doc was messaging his neck and sending them not-so-subtle glares every once in a while. Symmie had her back to him, so he couldn’t see her expression, but Ethos caught his gaze and gave a little wave.

After a second, Grian waved back. Doc glared harder. 

Grian looked away from them, and found Void. He was standing a ways away from everyone else, arms folded almost as if he were holding himself. Now that he was a little closer and out of the rays of the rapidly setting sun, Grian thought he looked troubled. 

Despite the twisting feeling in his gut (seriously, what was it about Void that made him feel so uneasy?), he moved towards him. Void caught sight of his approach, and though he didn’t move, he also didn’t look at him, either.

“What happened?” He asked once he was a few feet away. Void shifted.

“We were… exploring the district, like in the plan,” he said. “When the creeper-man－Doc, I suppose is his name－attacked us. He got Mumbo really hard in the head, but I managed to distract him. I had almost beaten him when the woman showed up and went for Mumbo. That’s when you showed up.”

“That was a pretty complex-looking move you had Doc in,” Grian continued, rather carefully. How exactly was he supposed to breach the fact that Void had looked so ready to kill Doc? Even with respawn, it was a frightening sight, now that he thought about it more and more. “I didn’t know you could fight like that.”

“Neither did I,” Void replied softly, almost sounding frightened. After a moment of surprise, Grian bit his lip, wanting to say something comforting, but found himself unable to think of the right thing to say.

It looked like he wasn’t the only disturbed by Void, and that other person being Void himself didn’t make him feel much better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't seen anything with Etho in it since like May I totally just bs'ed his character sorry－


	12. Aren't You?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you know that feeling where you know exactly how you want your storyline to go, but you're lost on how to get there? That's me right now with Watcher!Grian.

Grian didn’t know what to think of his odd training session with Macan. As he limped back to his room, his mind swirled with different thoughts, each more confused and jumbled than the last. 

What did they mean by saying that Sesfa didn’t have his best interests in mind? Of course she didn’t; from what Grian had seen she was only concerned with making sure Exae was happy. If Grian rebelled in any way, he was sure she would turn him in without a second thought. But… no, that answer was too obvious. Macan wouldn’t warn him about something silly like that. But if that wasn’t it, what was? Sefsa was odd, and kinda creepy, but so far she seemed rather predictable in that she would do anything to please her… masters.

_ Ugh _ . He hated thinking of the Watchers like that, but for Sesfa, it seemed to be true. He certainly couldn’t trust her any more than the other Watchers, that was for sure. She’d totally given in.

He made it to a flight of stairs, looking up at them with a sigh as he drew himself out of his thoughts to fully take in the daunting task ahead of him. Man, if only he had his wings. This trek back to his room was going to be a pain. 

And of course there were the things wrong with his memory. Losing memories was normal, yes. Well, a few hours of memories. The extent of how much had apparently been wiped from his memories, along with the fact that he hadn’t even noticed his wings being gone… that was really worrying. It came with a sense of vulnerability, of being at Exae’s mercy at every moment of the day.

Before his escape and the loss of his memory, the only places Grian could find solace were in small, tucked-away corners and the areas of his mind that he rarely had the opportunity or courage to touch. Now even those places were being threatened, and he had no clue how to defend himself.

Grian pressed himself up the last few steps, breathing heavily as his head throbbed. He gritted his teeth, wishing he’d saved some of that potion of regeneration from earlier, then shook the thought out of his head.

Whatever. He’d thought the situation had been hopeless and terrible back when he’d first arrived, too. He’d figure out how to navigate this new climate, and then how to escape it.

And to do that, he needed a plan. XisumaVoid would have to be his first point of contact. He was the only admin whose contact information Grian knew off the top of his head, and the only one who would know (and be willing to tell) what had happened to him in the blank space between escaping and returning to the Deep End. To contact him would have to be one of his first objectives, after the typical survivalist mindset one had to have around the Watchers. 

After that… he wasn’t exactly sure. Grian wasn’t one to think so seriously about the future. Even if he was, he knew so little right now that any plans he made would be going off assumptions from the past, which most likely were extremely out of date by now.

The rustling of a cloak drew him out of his thoughts, and Grian snapped out of his thought, shoving them out of his head and instead focusing on how his head hurt. A moment later, Sefsa came into view, rounding the corner at the other end of the hallway Grian had just entered. She was still in the everyday Watcher garb, her cloak hanging heavily over her shoulders compared to the light strips of Grian’s combat cloak. Her wings were folded neatly against her back, and Grian found himself eyeing them almost jealously.

If Sefsa noticed where his attention was at, she didn’t comment on it. Instead, she just walked towards him, pausing a few feet away.

Now that he thought about it, Grian had never seen her get close to anyone, except that brief moment when she had given him the bottle of regeneration. 

“Come,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper but echoing in the quiet halls. “Onah sent me to care for your injuries.”

Onah, of course. Grian didn’t respond, simply drawing himself up to appear as unharmed as possible and nodding. Sefsa tilted her head slightly, then turned around and walked back down the hall. Grian followed her. Their walk was silent, but then again, most things in the Deep End were. He was used to it.

They went down a flight of stairs, to the floor below, and finally to a small door offset by the staircase. Sefsa opened it for him, and Grian walked into the small infirmary.

It made sense that Watchers would have one, really. While they themselves never needed medical attention, Grian certainly did, and Sefsa was likely no different. And Onah was always one for efficiency. Best to heal the players back up so they could beat them down again as soon as possible.

Still, it wasn’t like the infirmary was a five star hospital or anything. Grian sat down on the single white cot in the corner of the small room, grabbing a small role of bandages. Trying to ignore how Sefsa stood in the corner, just watching him, he ripped off a small piece and started covering up the little cuts that covered his body. 

He wanted to ask her questions. Why didn't he have wings? What about her made Macan, of all things, warn him about her? What had happened while he was gone? Who  _ was _ she?

He went with the safest one.

“Do you know when I will have my mask returned?” He asked softly. Sefsa stiffened slightly, and he watched her closely. That was one of the biggest reactions he’d gotten out of her yet. “I’ll be honest, it’s a bit weird, seeing visible light again.”

Like when he’d asked her of her past, Sefsa didn’t respond immediately. Instead, her mouth twisted downwards slightly, and she tilted her head as Grian turned his gaze away from her, focusing on wrapping a cut on his forearm. He debated pushing the matter further. On one hand, the mask had been one of the first things he’d received from the Watchers, when he’d first arrived. He’d worn it since day one. Them not giving it back to him, despite his cloak being returned and his lessons resuming, was worryingly confusing. 

See, a Watcher’s mask was one of their greatest assets, for with it they did not see the world the same way natural players did. In fact, they didn’t see at all; a surprising fact was that all Watchers were as blind as a bat. It wasn’t like they, or Grian for that matter, could magically see right through a solid porcelain mask. No… with a Watcher mask the wearer perceived the world in an entirely different way, a way that required no sight at all.

How to explain it? Grian hardly understood it himself, and that was after months of using the thing. He pursed his lips quietly, trying to recall the sensation.

Watchers didn’t  _ see _ , they  _ perceived.  _ A Watcher didn’t look at a player and think, medium-sized male with messy black hair and bi-colored headphones, that must be－well, their name. No, they looked at that player and thought, adventurous, goofy, a little dense, that must be their name. They looked at you and saw the very essence of what you were. It was why you could never hide from a Watcher; you could dye your hair, grow four inches, and change clothes, but as long as you still identified as yourself they would recognize you.

Sefsa still hadn’t responded. Grian raised an eyebrow. Asking after the mask was a perfectly acceptable question, he thought. She couldn’t get him in trouble for it, though he doubted she would want to since it wasn’t anything traitorous and he hadn’t been punished for asking after her past yet.

He finished wrapping his arms, and quietly slipped the leftover bandages into the waistband of his pants. 

“I don’t know,” Sefsa finally said. Grian had to hold back a snort. “You will receive it when Exae deems it proper.”

_ That’s a bit of a wait just for an ‘I don’t know.’ _

“A bit odd, considering I got the cloak back and my lessons started up again so quickly,” Grian mused out loud, watching for any sort of reaction from the other player. But Sefsa did nothing, simply standing by the door as she waited for him to finish.

Damn. That woman was a stone wall.

_ Be a bit easier to gauge her reaction if she didn’t wear that mask _ , he found himself thinking, then thrust the idea out of his mind. No use thinking traitorous thoughts. He had no clue what Sefsa’s mental capabilities were.

His head still throbbed, but there wasn’t much he could do about that. With their location in the Deep End and the Watchers not needing it, Nether-spawned potion supplies were exceedingly rare, thus why it was so odd for him to receive potions of regeneration or healing. Without those, he’d have to make do with some ice back at his－ _ Sefsa’s－ _ quarters.

“Well, I’m done,” he sighed nonchalantly, standing up and stretching, sighing as his back popped. “Ready to go?”

Sefsa said nothing, simply turning silently and walking back to the doorway. Grian followed, more than ready to get some ice for his head. Hopefully, he’d be left alone for the rest of the evening, he needed some time to rest and recover. He’d gotten out of shape while he was gone.

And then he was in Sefsa’s quarters.

Grian blinked, startled.

_ What?  _ He put a hand to his head, his headache flaring painfully. He was… so tired, even more so than just a few seconds ago.

No… a few seconds ago, he’d been in the infirmary. Why was he suddenly in Sefsa’s quarters? Sure, he’d planned on going back, but he had no memory of the journey.

A door creaked behind him, and Grian turned sharply to see Sefsa walking into the room. She found him almost immediately, turning her mask in his direction.

He had to force himself to not flinch under her gaze. Something about her suddenly seemed… different. More serious. 

“Oh.” Even her voice felt slightly more weighted than usual. “I see you’ve finally returned.”

“Returned? I－” And then it clicked. “ _ Oh. _ ”

Memory wipe. It wasn’t common for the Watchers to memory-wipe him, and his missing memories of his time as an escapee testified of its effectiveness. One of the Watchers must have needed to speak with him, or wanted him to do something, that they thought he wasn’t worthy of remembering.

There was a thrill of fear in his chest, though. The Watchers had taken away months of memory last time, at the least. How much time had he lost now?

“How long was I gone?” He asked.

“What do you last remember?” Sefsa questioned back. Grian was startled by the forcefulness of her voice－which, of course, wasn’t forceful at all, but hosted a small weight to it.

“We were about to leave the infirmary.”

“One hour…” Sefsa hummed, more to herself than him, then frowned slightly. Without another word, she turned with a  _ swish _ of the cloak, ducking away into her room with a quiet click of the door. 

Grian bit his bottom lip, watching her go. Oh, he was definitely missing something. Sefsa obviously had her lips sealed on the matter, even assuming that she knew what had happened to him in the apparent hour he’d missed.

But why was she suddenly so invested in him losing memory? She had brought him here, and had been seemingly the perfect docile servant. Yet even these slight reactions from her signaled a lot, a slight spark of personality. 

He smiled softly. Oh, there was hope for her yet. Sefsa had been on her own for a while, and it was apparent that she had given in long before he had even started pretending to. Not that he didn’t blame her. There were some days that Grian had held on to his sense of self by pure spite alone. But if she showed concern here, well. Perhaps losing memory was some sort of trigger from her?

Maybe he could get her to return to her previous self, get her to reconnect with her past and help him in his efforts to escape.

Then he chuckled, shaking his head. Now  _ that _ was a ridiculous thought, and a risk he just couldn’t take. With a sigh, he grabbed a cup and drank some water from the sink, soothing his parched throat, then went to his room.

Closing the door behind him, he patted his waistline. To his relief, his fingers found the small lump of extra bandages he’d tucked there. Slipping off his cloak and letting it fall to the floor, he sat on his bed, unrolling the bandage strip and tearing it into thirds. He let his fingers work on their own, deftly twisting the bandages into a braid. Once he was done, he twisted the torn ends and tied them together, leaving him with a crude, rough bracelet.

Of course, he couldn’t wear it. That would be asking for a beating. He just needed to start decorating his room again, and little ringlets seemed like a good place to start. He slipped it on for a moment, watching as it caught on the bandages he’d used to cover his scrapes from Macan’s training session. Then he sighed, took it off, and tucked it under the bed, where it wouldn’t easily be seen.

He flopped backwards onto the bed, eyes already fluttering shut. He was exhausted, and already he could feel sleep creeping up on him.

He was almost under when he remembered. Grian’s eyes snapped open, and he groaned.

He’d  _ forgotten _ the ice for his head. Now he had to get out of bed!

It was official. Life sucked.

* * *

_ “Mumbo! What a surprise!” Xisuma looked up from his work as the door to his Patch room opened up, letting a sliver of natural light into the room. He stood up, waving away the admin panels he’d been working on as the mustached man ducked into the room, letting the door close behind him and bathe the room back into semi-darkness. Xisuma clucked his tongue, flipping a switch and turning the lights on. Wouldn’t do to be a poor host for houseguests. _

_ “Hello, X,” Mumbo said, running a hand through his hair. Xisuma felt his smile drop as he took in his friend’s disheveled appearance and worried expression. “Sorry, I know today’s one of your Patchdays, but I need your help. Please, X.”  _

_ “Of course!” Xisuma replied. He grabbed a spare chair out of his inventory (ah, he did have to organize that at some point), and set it down for Mumbo, taking back his own seat. The redstoner sat down with a sigh. “What is it?” _

_ “It’s… a little complicated, X. I’m worried about one of my friends.” _

_ “Really? Last I checked, all the Hermits were just fine. Is something going on?” _

_ Mumbo shook his head. “No, no. One of my friends outside of Hermitcraft.” _

_ Xisuma blinked. He hadn’t been aware that Mumbo had friends outside of their tight-knit server. Not to say that he didn’t think he could but, but, well. They were called the Hermits for a reason. _

_ “Not to be rude, but what does this have to do with me, then?” He asked. _

_ Mumbo frowned deeper. “It’s a long story. Mind if I explain?” _

_ “Of course not. If you think I can help, I’ll be happy to do so.” _

_ “So, I met this guy a few years ago, on break between Seasons. His name’s Grian, a pretty cool guy and a really talented builder. He and I hit it off really well, and we’ve had a bit of a long distance friendship since then. Sometimes we meet up to have building competitions or to plan builds, stuff like that. I’ve actually thought about asking you to invite him to Hermitcraft, but he started his own server a year or so ago.” _

_ “He’s an admin?” Xisuma questioned, eyebrows raising. _

_ “Yes, and a natural-born one, too. You know how rare those are.” Xisuma nodded. Besides himself, he’d only met two other natural-born admins in his life. They were exceedingly rare, and often tended to keep quiet about their abilities. “Anyways, a few days ago I got a call from this guy called DomRao. He’s one of Grian’s friends, honestly a bit weird but he’s got a funny streak. He was asking if I’d heard anything from him, if perhaps he’d gone to stay with me.” _

_ “But if he’s an admin, why would he come to us? He has a server to run.” _

_ “Exactly,” Mumbo hummed. “And Dom, well, he’s not the kind of person to worry like that, especially to the point of calling me of all people. So I knew this was serious.” _

_ “This Grian is missing, isn’t he?” _

_ Mumbo nodded, clasping his hands together. “I called Taurtis today－Grian’s closest friend and a member of his server. Apparently he went missing three weeks ago, when the server went to fight the Ender Dragon. Grian got separated from them. At first the other server members thought it was a glitch, that he’d just stayed in the Overworld. But then he never showed up. And, well, everyone’s getting really worried, X. Grian’s server is… experimental, to say the least, and it needs constant attention from its admin. I was wondering, since you were a natural-born admin too, and so used to the End, that maybe you could help.” _

_ Xisuma frowned. An admin, disappearing on his way to the End and never returning? That sounded like a nasty glitch. He would be worried, too, if he were in Mumbo’s position. _

_ “I’m sorry, X,” Mumbo was saying, fidgeting. “I don’t know if you can even do anything, but no one else knows someone who might be able to help.” _

_ “No, no,” Xisuma said, leaning forwards. “You know me, Mumbo. I’ll be happy to help. Tell me about this server Grian owns.” _

Void snapped awake, his vision of Mumbo’s concerned expression switching to the sandstone and brick ceiling of the Central Island’s Town Hall. For a moment, he laid there, breathing.

It was still dark out. He and the other players had all called a temporary truce the night before, deciding to wait until morning to figure out what in the world was going on. They’d reunited with ZombieCleo and TangoTek, but they’d all fallen asleep within minutes. It’d been a long day.

Apparently, long days were not enough to stop those vivid dreams. He frowned, trying to remember what it had been about.

Mumbo. Mumbo had come to him, concerned about Grian, who was missing. But Void himself didn’t know Grian? It was honestly confusing.

Was it a memory? Maybe?

He turned over, shaking the body next to him awake. Keralis took a few moments to blink his eyes open, then mumbled something incomprehensible and turned over.

“Wassit?” He asked, still half asleep.

“I think my dreams are memories,” he said. “Keralis, I think I might have some clues to our past, and I need your help.”


	13. A Specious Peace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Specious is one of my favorite words.

Cub looked like he was about to scream “screw the truce!” and try to kill Doc.

If she were honest, Cleo didn’t blame him, even if that would be a terrible idea. She most definitely wasn’t too friendly with the island-dwelling players, either. 

She didn’t know how her ‘friends’ (were they friends? Cleo had hardly even spoken to them in person) had managed to calm them down enough to let her and Tango go, but she was grateful for it. Symmie and Doc may have been irrational and violent towards outsiders, but they weren’t idiots, and knew when their cards were stacked against them. O had let them out last night, and they’d spent the night free, with Cub and his crew.

Now, though, it looked like the truce was going to break even before the negotiations even started. 

“No!” Cub was snapping. He held his iron sword out, pointed at Doc’s chest. It would be a good threat, if said creeper-cyborg wasn’t half-decked out in diamond armor and Cub wasn’t still half-naked in that weird pharaoh garb of his. Still, Scar, who  _ did  _ have some diamond armor, was happily backing his leader up, sporting a diamond axe. Symmie was standing protectively in front of O, while Ethos, Grian, and Stress stood off to the side, looking torn between the two groups.

“I told you, we haven’t done anything to Void and Keralis!” Doc hissed. “They must have left in the middle of the night!”

“ _ Or _ you did something to them,” Cub shot back, teeth gritted. “You know we have the upper hand, Doc. Did you want some leverage over us?”

“ _ Or, _ maybe they decided that they didn't want to be part of your little crew anymore.”

The group fell into a tense silence again, and Cleo’s hand itched for her sword, which hadn’t been returned to her yet. Beside her, Tango was scowling, arm now in a sling to assist with healing. He definitely hadn’t forgiven Doc for the wound, as was his right, honestly.

“Guys, I think we’re all just overreacting,” Stress put in, trying to dispel them. Cub and Doc ignored her. Cleo thought she saw Ethos roll his eyes.

For a moment, everyone was silent, Cub and Doc staring daggers into each other's eyes.

“Hey, guys! Void and I found… bagels…”

The new, cheerful voice cut through the tension like a hot knife through butter. Everyone turned in surprise to see none other than the subject of their disagreement coming up the stairs and into the Town Hall. Keralis was up in front, Void trailing behind. Keralis was holding a bag in one hand, while Void had a small notebook tucked into his chest. 

“I thought we had a truce?” Void asked, sounding quite confused. Cub sighed, lowering his sword, while Doc huffed in triumph, turning away.

“Where have you been?” the older man asked tiredly. “We thought Doc and his gang had broken the truce.”

“Uh, it’s a bit of a long story that we were planning to tell you,” Void said. His eyes were wide under that visor of his, probably embarrassed that he caused such a fuss. He motioned to Keralis’ bag. “But we found breakfast on the way back!”

“Ooo!” O exclaimed, clapping his hands. “I love bagels! Can I have one?” Symmie elbowed him in the gut. “Ow! Hey!”

“Look, let’s just calm down,” Stress cut in, folding her arms. “Biting at each other's throats isn’t going to make things easier for us. We need to work together if we want to survive.”

“We were doing just fine before you weirdos started showing up,” Doc muttered.

“Says the green cyborg!” Cub exclaimed. “What even  _ are _ you?!”

Doc stiffened and Symmie raised her sword with a growl. Even Cleo had to suppress a wince at the harsh words. Cub did have a point, though. While most of the other players were human (or, at least, looked it), she and Doc, at least, were decidedly not. She hadn’t really given it much thought, but Cub’s words suddenly made her question. 

Did the other’s see her differently because of her body?

“Alright, alright!” Grian shouted, pushing past Stress, who was starting to look a little overwhelmed. “We’re all confused and scared here, alright?! Let’s go cool off and come back to discuss things after breakfast. Maybe we can be more  _ civil _ if we have some food in our systems.”

“Sounds fair,” Etho shrugged nonchalantly. Cleo watched as he, completely unperturbed by the atmosphere, trotted forwards to Doc, grabbed his shoulder, and twirled him around. “I want one of those bagels.”

“Uh… sure,” Keralis stammered. O wriggled his way out of Symmie’s protective arms and dashed over to him, whispering something. In the next moment, Keralis was pulling out four bagels, which O happily took back to his crew. With one last, suspicious look from Symmie, they went up the stairs and up to the second floor of the Town Hall.

For a moment, everyone was silent. Then Cub sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.

“What were you guys thinking?” He asked. “I thought they’d kidnapped you!”

“It’s my fault, Cub,” Void admitted, stepping forwards. “Something happened last night and Keralis and I wanted to find something to write it down with, so we went out in the early morning. It was my idea; I should have read the situation better.”

“What happened?” Cleo asked, trying to push the echo of Cub’s comment out of her head. She reached forwards and grabbed a bagel from Keralis, and took a bite.

Hm. It  _ was _ a good bagel, at least.

“I don’t think I've lost all of my memory,” Void blurted out. “I, uh, have been having these  _ really _ vivid dreams and I think they’re memories. Here—” he thrust the book forwards, to Mumbo. “You and Grian might want to read it first; the dream I had last night was about you two.”

“Really?” Mumbo said, surprised.

“Yeah, well. You were there. We were talking about Grian. Apparently he was missing or something.”

Cleo raised an eyebrow. Really? Well, if Grian was here now, she assumed that that problem had figured itself out, so it wasn’t really that important. Maybe, at some point, one of these dream-memories would reveal something about her? Despite her best efforts, Cub’s words were still echoing in her ears.

Why  _ was  _ she different than everyone else? 

“Interesting,” Mumbo hummed, flipping through the journal. “I’ll have to go through this in detail after I finish my journal. You have good handwriting, Void, it’s beautiful.” Void fidgeted, looking to the side, and mumbled something under his breath while Keralis looked to the side. “What?”

“Nothing,” he muttered, but Cleo had the feeling that under that vizor of his he was blushing. Mumbo shrugged, letting the matter drop. “Anyways, once you’re done I want to talk to Doc and tell him what’s going on too. He and his friends deserve to know everything we do.”

“What?” Tango asked, putting his good arm on his hip. “Why’s that?”

“Just because we’re biting at each other’s throats doesn’t mean they don’t deserve to have the chance of knowing who they once were,” Void replied, turning to him. Tango didn’t argue, but turned away, muttering something along the lines of “do they really?” under his breath. Cleo put a hand on his shoulder, and he sent her a thankful glance. 

She took another bite of her bagel and the group dispersed a bit. Keralis handed out bagels as Cub, Grian, and Mumbo retreated to Mumbo’s growing book collection, Grian taking Void’s notebook to share Cub as Mumbo picked up a different book from his bag. Scar and Stress sat down together at the base of the diamond pile, and Cleo found herself taking a bench, sitting next Tango.

Tango didn’t say anything right away, instead picking at his bagel for a bit before setting it on his lap and taking a bite.

“How’s your arm doing?” Cleo finally asked, unsure of what else to say. Out of the group, she felt the most comfortable with Tango, but they’d known each other for less than a day, and she was quickly finding that they didn’t really know how to communicate with each other that well.

“Better,” the red-eyes man mumbled, mouth half-full. He finished chewing, and then continued. “Stress says she can help heal it, but she left whatever equipment she needed to do it back at her boat.”

“That’s good to hear.” She looked over in Grian’s direction. The sandy-haired man was pouring over the journal he’d been given, Mambo leaning over his shoulder. Cub was going through some other book, and from his position, with his back partially towards her, she could see it had some sort of diagram in it. “Maybe I’ll go through some of those books.”

“Hm,” Tango hummed, picking at his bagel once again.

“You should eat that,” Cleo added after a moment, finishing off her own bagel. They hadn’t eaten since last night, and even then it had only been some golden carrots O had brought them. 

Tango just hummed dispassionately again. 

“Is something on your mind?”

For a moment, he didn’t respond. Then, with his voice lowered so they wouldn’t be overheard, he said: “Isn’t it odd that Void is the only one having memory flashbacks?”

“I… suppose so,” Cleo replied, drawing out her words. “But I mean, isn’t it odd that we’ve all lost our memories?”

“I dunno, Cleo,” Tango pressed on. “Kinda weird dude, don’t you think? I mean, why can’t he breathe our air? Why can’t he show any skin? How does he  _ eat _ ?”

“He can’t breathe our air?” Cleo asked, surprised. Sure, she’d noticed that the man was covered in yellow armor, but hadn’t really thought why.

“He suffocated three times when we first lost our memories, remember? I’ve been thinking about it. He’s not suffocating now; chances are he just forgot he couldn’t breathe without that helmet.”

_ Is he different, too _ ? She looked over at him. Maybe? 

“Where are you going with this?” She asked instead.

Tango shrugged. “Dunno, but Void… I don’t think he’s like the rest of us. I mean, sure, you and Doc  _ look _ different, but Void, he  _ feels _ different.” He paused for a moment, then spoke so softly Cleo had to strain to hear him. “At first, this was all some grand adventure. But now, with Doc and his gang, and Void, and the monsters…” He set down the uneaten half of his bagel, and hugged his injured arm. “Cleo, I don’t feel safe.”

It was a surprising admission, but, as Cleo absorbed the words, one she found she agreed with and understood. She thought of Cub’s words, of Doc’s resentful gaze, and the corpse that had nearly drowned her in the ocean.

“Yeah, I get it,” she muttered. Tango’s pitch-black pupils flickered towards her.

He leaned a little closer, brushing his shoulder against hers. Cleo closed her eyes and tried to relax.

Try being the key word. But at least it was a start.

* * *

They were off the island by the end of the day

It was agreed that the two groups weren’t going to get along for the time being. With Cub and Doc’s relationship rapidly fraying to the point of anger, and Symmie and Void already having gotten off at such a bad start, Grian had proposed they simply stay away from each other, at least for the time being. It was obvious that with feelings running so high, nothing productive was going to be getting done between them. 

Cleo sat at the back of the boat, the central island quickly disappearing behind them. The sun was making its swift descent down the horizon, turning the sky into a fiery array of orange, yellow, and pink. She found herself watching it, almost mesmerized by the beauty of it, so unlike the dull boredom with which she'd watched the sunset two days ago. 

She settled further into her seat, her right side chill with the wind blowing past her, but her right side warm. Tango had fallen asleep a few minutes ago, subconsciously curling into her side with his head on her shoulder. It was nice, knowing he trusted her enough to do that.

Grian was also asleep, though he was without a living (?) pillow like Tango, instead sprawled out on one of the other seats. Keralis was steering the boat, Cub at his side, while Mumbo and Void were going over some of the former’s books. She could hear them murmuring to each other over the wind; apparently Void couldn’t read very well, since Mumbo kept on helping him sound out words. 

“It’s really nice to have another lady on the team, you know.”

Cleo started, turning to her right, where Stress was sitting. She hadn’t talked to her much besides a few words when she’d healed Tango’s wound earlier that afternoon, using some kind of potion she’d found on her journey here. 

Stress was looking at her, smiling softly, and Cleo realized she was waiting for her to respond.

“I guess,” she replied, tucking a strand of her hair behind an ear. “I never really thought about it.”

Stress sighed, faux-annoyed. “Lucky you. I love the boys, but it can get kind of tiring being alone with a bunch of meatheads all day. I’m looking forward to getting to know you better.”

Cleo didn’t immediately respond to that, looking back to the sunset. The sun itself was almost under the horizon, now. Soon night would be coming. Hopefully they were going too fast for the ocean corpses to get them. She shuddered a bit, remembering the sensation of being dragged, far, far down, under the water.

Well, at least Doc had given back her sword. It was sitting under her seat now, blue blade still sharp and glistening. If anything happened, she’d be able to fight.

“Is Tango doing alright?” Stress asked after a minute or two. Cleo glanced down at the man she hoped was her friend. He was the most peaceful right now, fast asleep, that she’d seen since meeting him the day before.

“He’s… tense,” Cleo replied slowly, unsure with how comfortable Tango would be with her sharing what he’d told her in the Town Hall earlier that day. “We both are, I think.”

Stress nodded sympathetically. 

“I get that,” she said. “I’ll admit I’m pretty stressed, too.” She chuckled. “No pun intended. I mean, we’re probably going to be spending the night out on the ocean so the monsters don’t get us. How is that going to work?”

“It’ll be crowded, for sure,” Cleo said with a small smile, despite herself. “And we’ll have to look out for those ocean-corpses.”

“I think the boat is high enough out of the water. I think we’ll be fine on that front.”

“Watches might be a good idea, though.”

“Yeah, just in case,” Stress agreed. Her face softened as she continued. “Hey. Cleo. You and Tango haven’t been having a good time lately. Just… if you want to talk to someone, I’m here.”

Cleo sighed, turning back to the sunset. The sun had just slipped below the horizon, leaving fading rays of light spread across the sky.

“Yeah.” She muttered. “Thanks, Stress.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! Besides being busy, I had a terrible writer's block. In the end I decided to take a bit of a break and publish some new works. Go and check them out if you want- One is a DreamSMP crackfic about time loops, the other is an established AU with Hermit!Tubbo.
> 
> Also, thank you all SO MUCH for the comments in the last chapter! I had so much fun going through them and answering questions. If you want some fun facts and tidbits that didn't/haven't made it in the fic yet, go check out the comments!


	14. Antebellum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Highly recommend listening to "Burying the Dead: Epic Version" by Samuel Kim while reading the italicized section of this chapter. That piece was the primary inspiration for that scene.

“ _ Geronimo~! _ ”

Void looked up from his spot underneath the jungle tree at Scar’s cry. The younger man was dressed only in a pair of swimming shorts, and had used a vine to swing out over the lake. Curling his legs up to his chest, he descended and hit the water with a  _ splash _ . Keralis and Stress, both already half-submerged in the water, yelped as the wave hit them, then laughed.

It was a warm, sunny day, perfect for swimming. Two weeks had passed since Void had lost his memories, and for most of that time, he’d been staying with his friends in the jungle, near where Scar and Grian had woken up. They’d spent that time settling into their new home and getting to know each other better, and Void felt comfortable in saying that most of the people staying here were his friends, just as they had been before.

Not much had happened besides that, though. Void had a few dreams here and there, though none of them seemed to reveal much. None of the settings of the dreams were recognizable in the slightest, though some of his friends did show up a few times, though none as often as Mumbo. Apparently, they’d been old friends, something he could definitely understand. There was something about the tall man that made him feel a bit more comfortable, a bit more relaxed.

“Heya, Void!”

Unlike someone else. Void yelped, placing a hand over his heart. He turned around, craning his neck up to see Grian grinning down at him. He was in a dark gray t-shirt, probably stolen from Scar (he’d taken quite nicely to his hoard of gray shirts), and was also wearing some swim trunks.

“You scared the life out of me, Grian!” He gasped, trying to steady his breathing. “Try and warn a man next time.”

“Aw, but where’s the fun in that?” Grian asked with a chuckle. “Aren’t you going swimming, Void? It’s a beautiful day and we don’t have much to do.”

Void glanced out at the water, where Stress and Keralis had teamed up in a splash fight against Scar. 

“No,” he admitted. “I’m working on something. Either way—” he held up his gloved hand. “Not much for me to enjoy, anyways.”

Grian opened his mouth a bit, as if wanting to protest that assessment, then seemed to give up. Instead, he craned his neck to try and get a look at the notebook in Void’s hands. “What’cha working on, then?”

“Just some notes,” Void shrugged. He had been combing through his journal entries from the past week, and Mumbo’s pre-amnesia ones, to try and find commonalities between them. He hadn’t been very successful beyond some basic facts, but it was bettering his reading and writing skills. He still struggled to articulate some of the bigger words, but he was picking up writing quickly enough and no longer needed Keralis to transcribe things for him. 

“Sounds boring.”

“It’s quite fascinating, actually. Did you know that combining water and lava makes cobblestone—ah, you don’t care, do you.”

“Bor- _ ing _ !” Grian sang, putting his hands on his hips. “You’re as bad as Mumbo; no wonder you two get along so well.”

Void sighed, shaking his head. Grian was very much a tactile person, and Void had found out rather quickly that books, and the written word in general, rarely held his attention for long. Void was quickly finding out that he was completely the opposite.

“Are you swimming, then?” He asked, changing the subject. Grian nodded.

“Duh. It’s the perfect day for swimming and I haven’t had a chance to go out yet!”

Void chuckled. “Well, I won’t keep you. I think Scar is losing the splash war anyways.”

Grian’s head whipped over to the lake. Sure enough, Keralis had Scar in a headlock and was in the process of trying to dunk him under the water. With a laugh, Grian shrugged off his shirt, tossing it to the ground. Void looked up, ready to watch as he ran over to the water, when he froze.

He’d never seen Grian shirtless before. Now, though, the two jagged scars making their way down his back were open for the world to see.

“Grian!” He found himself called out, standing up. “Wait!”

Grian paused, turning around. “What’s up?”

Void stumbled for a moment, then: “Uh, have you seen those scars on your back before?”

Grian’s brow furrowed. “Scars? What scars?”

“Here, turn around.” Grian did as he was told, and Void took a closer look at the scars. There were two of them, jagged lines centered just at his shoulder blades and extending down to around three-fourths of the way down his back, inclined slightly towards the spine. They looked pretty old, but stood out starkly against his tanned skin.

“There’s these… scars, on your back,” Void said. “Big ones. It looks like it hurt, but the wound itself seems pretty old.”

“Huh,” Grian hummed, running a hand over part of his back. “Never noticed.”

“They were on your back. I don’t see why you would. I wonder where they came from.”

Grian shrugged. “Well, whatever it is, it’s in the past. Thanks for letting me know, Void, but,” he jerked a thump over his shoulder and winked. “But I think Scar needs my help.”

Void looked over, and indeed, Stress had come to Keralis’ aid, dunking Scar in full under the water. He smiled, feeling a flicker of warmth in his chest at the sight of his friends. 

“Well, you go on, now,” he teased. “Wouldn’t want to bore you to death with my rambling.”

“Oh, go read a book.” Grian laughed at the end of his words, sprinting off to the lake with a wild war cry. He jumped a few feet into the water and waded in the rest of the way, falling into an easy stroke as he dashed over to where Stress, Scar, and Keralis were currently battling it out.

Void watched him go with a bit of a smile. It was nice. Something about seeing Grian and his friends so happy and carefree… it made him feel a sense of contentment. He rolled his shoulders—he’d been sitting for far too long—and picked up his and Mumbo’s journals from where he’d left them on the ground. He should take Grian’s advice, teasingly though it may have been given. It was too nice of a day to spend entirely on his own.

He began making his way across the lake—he was closer to Scar’s snail, and they’d moved to the bigger cave-like house on the other side a few days ago for the sake of space—humming a tune under his breath as he went. He glanced over at the water at someone’s shriek a few minutes later to see that Grian had made his appearance. He and Stress were making bigger and bigger waves at each other, while Keralis and Scar had started wrestling.

He was so distracted by the play war that he didn’t notice Cleo until it was almost too late. She had just turned around a particularly large tree, looking in the other direction, and they almost crashed into each other before they noticed the other’s presence and took a step back.

“Oh, sorry, Cleo,” Void laughed, a little awkwardly. Out of the group, he’d interacted with Cleo and her friend, Tango, the least. They usually spent their time on their own or maybe with Stress, but always seemed to be attached to the hip. “I didn’t see you there. How are you doing?”

“F-fine,” Cleo replied. She’d pulled her hair back in a ponytail, and she tucked a stray strand of hair behind an ear. 

“Are you planning to go swimming? It’s a beautiful day out.”

“No,” she shook her head. “Tango and I were planning to go on a walk, later.”

“Well, I won’t keep you, then. Go have fun.”

Cleo smiled briefly at him, then continued on her way, striding over to the Snail-house, where she and Tango had taken up residence. Xisuma watched her go for a bit, then shook his head, letting her go and continuing on his way. 

* * *

_ There was ash everywhere. _

_ Xisuma was sure that he would be cleaning it out of the many crevices in his suit for weeks after this. The ash drifted down from the heavens above, mixed with the gently falling snow to become a gray that collected on the ground in heaps and drifts. It was almost beautiful, in a way.  _

_ With a sigh, he reached up, fingers easily finding the clasps that attached his helmet to the rest of his armor. He pressed upwards, and with a click and a hiss of air the helmet released. He pulled it off entirely, blinking his eyes against the unfiltered light of a world without the tint of his visor. He took in a deep breath, lungs filling and processing the air easily. He sighed, looking downwards in disappointment, and turned back to his communicator. He tapped a few times on the screen, Binary and Galactic intermingling in the world’s code.  _

_ After a few minutes, he waved the screen away, turning the device off. He tucked his helmet under one arm, running a hand through his hair. It was growing long; he’d have to cut it soon. _

_ “You were right, Mumbo,” he conceded. “No one could have survived in a place like this. No normal players, at least.” _

_ He turned around to look at his friend. Mumbo was bundled up against the cold of the world, his usual suit and tie traded for a black fur coat and thick pants and snow boots. A mask was strapped over the lower half of his face, obscuring his mouth and nose. Every time he breathed, there was a soft snap-hiss of the air being filtered so it was breathable for the mustached man. His arms were crossed, and his expression was pained as he looked about the world around him. _

_ “World” was a bit of an overstatement. The server was hardly even that anymore. The sky was a gray, dreary overcast, raining a mixture of ash and snow towards the ground. Any visible grass was long dead, brown and crunchy underfoot. The trees were long gone as well, bare without their leaves. Whatever buildings there used to be now lay in ruin, many of them half burnt to the ground.  _

_ Xisuma’s chest felt tight. This was why he’d been so uncomfortable with agreeing to go on this excursion. What happened here… it could very easily happen to Hermitcraft. He’d seen it happen to many worlds before this one, and was sure it would happen to many worlds after. He’d worked so hard to keep Hermitcraft hidden and safe; coming here, even with the disaster long done and over with, was a risk. _

_ Yet he also knew why he’d given in. He never would have been able to look his friends in the eyes again if he’d said no. _

_ “Do you think he’ll be alright?” Xisuma asked, quietly. Mumbo didn’t respond immediately, and a gust of wind blew through the trees, making them have to pause and cover their eyes to protect them against the flowing ash. _

_ Even after the gust of wind had passed, Mumbo hesitated. He shoved his hands in his pockets and glanced down the shambled, burnt remains of a wooden path. Xisuma followed his gaze.  _

_ Grian was easy to spot. His red sweater stood out starkly against the gray snow-ash that blanketed this cold, dead world. He was standing at the end of the wooden path, gazing out over the world before them. He was partially turned away from them, but Xisuma could just see his expression, filled with an empty, soul-scarring sorrow. Unlike Mumbo, he wasn’t wearing an air filter over his mouth and nose, which made everything even easier to see. In his hands, he was holding a broken pair of headphones. _

_ “I don’t know, X,” Mumbo said quietly. His brow was furrowed, clearing aching for his old friend. “I really don’t know.” _

_ Xisuma closed his eyes, chasing away memories from a time long ago. For a moment, the two of them just stood in silence. _

_ “Thank you for bringing us here.” Xisuma looked up at Mumbo’s words. “Not just for Grian. These people…” he gestured out to the small field, devoid of rubble, that Grian was watching over. The ash there was recently disturbed, the earth turned up and over. At the end of each disturb patch of soil, there was a crudely made wooden cross. “They deserved a proper burial.” _

_ “...Yes, they did,” Xisuma agreed after a moment, shoulders slumping slightly. “They did.” _

_ There was another long pause between them before Mumbo spoke again. _

_ “What will he do now?” _

_ Xisuma shrugged. “It’s up to him. My offer to him to stay with Season 6 permanently still stands. Everyone else loves him; he’d do well with us. But if he wants to leave… he can go. He has a few friends outside of here and you, I think.” _

_ “Not many, and I don’t think he wants to go even further into the past,” Mumbo mused. Then he sighed, scratching at the edge of his mask. “Maybe he will stay. Maybe he’ll take up DomRao’s offer. I don’t know.” _

_ “Whatever happens, he’ll need a friend.” _

_ Mumbo looked back over at Grian, eyes filled with the caring love one has for a dear friend. “I think I can do that.” _

Void jerked awake, breathing heavily.

It took him a moment to remember where he was. Right, memory-dreams. 

Still, this one felt different. Void sat up from where he was, looking out the window. The moon was dipping down to the horizon below, but dawn still looked far off. Either way, he wasn’t going back to sleep now. Taking care not to disturb Mumbo—they were sharing a room, and he was fast asleep on a bed by the wall opposite him—he slipped out of bed, shaking out the kinks that came with sleeping his ever-present armor, and crept out of the room.

The mountainside house had been converted while they’d been there, most of the side rooms becoming bedrooms for everyone to use. But the main entranceway was empty, and he went there, grabbing one of his journals as he went. Sitting down at the dining table, he flipped it open, taking a pen and beginning to write.

There was some sort of story to this. Something itched at the back of his mind, and Void knew that this most recent dream was important. He thought of the dream he’d had back at the central island. Grian had been missing then, but now he was there. He’d acted so differently from the happy trickster he currently knew, though, it was hard to connect the two versions as the same person. 

As he wrote, he thought of the world he had seen. Of the ash and snow. Snow… he hadn’t seen any since the memory wipe, but when he thought of it his mind conjured up the definition and the memory of it from his dream. How was it possible for a world to look so dead? Void thought of the jungle they were living in, full of green and vibrant life, and tried to imagine it dead and ashen. He shivered.

There was a creak of a floorboard, and Void looked up to see Scar, sporting a fantastic bedhead, stumbling downstairs. He still looked half-asleep, but his eyes fell on Void easily enough.

“Sup,” Scar mumbled, opening one of the chests stacked on the wall and grabbing a water bottle. “Dreams?”

“As usual,” Void said with a smile. “What has you up at this hour?”

Scar shrugged, sitting opposite Void. “Mm, just woke up real thirsty.” He took a swig of water, then set it down on the table and set his arms on the table and his chin on them. “What was the dream about?”

“I’m not sure,” Void confessed. “It’s kind of long and I think I want to sit on it for a bit before I start trying to explain it.”

Scar shrugged again, and sat up, leaning back in the chair and drinking more water, seeming to wake up more as he did so. The two of them sat in silence for a bit.

“Do you ever think we’ll figure things out?” Scar asked abruptly. Void looked up from where he was trying to figure out how to spell “permanently.”

“What do you mean?” He asked.

Scar crossed his arms. “You know, this whole amnesia thing. How this world works. Will we ever know who we were?”

“I… don’t know,” Void answered, feeling a bit at a loss.

“What’s the point?”

“Scar… are you alright?”

Scar blinked, and then seemed to realize what he had just said. “Oh, no, no, not like that!” He exclaimed, holding his hands up. “Sorry. I just mean, what are we supposed to be doing here? There’s all these amazing buildings that  _ apparently _ we built, but why?”

Void shrugged. “For the sake of it, maybe? Mumbo’s journals make it look like he built just because he enjoyed figuring things out.”

Scar hummed. “I dunno. Are we just supposed to stay like this forever? Never knowing what our purpose is?”

Void set down his pen. “Look, Scar,” he said, leaning forwards. “I don’t know. Things right now, well, they’re weird. But I think things are going to work out. I don’t think that this amnesia will be permanent at all. Maybe it just will go away with time. Maybe something happens so we figure things out on our own. Whatever happens, I believe that this situation won’t be permanent.”

Scar smiled a bit at that, and opened his mouth to say something, but then their communicators buzzed.

Void blinked. They hadn’t used their communicators much, now that they all lived together and knew that whatever they said Doc and his gang would see. Who was talking in chat, much less in the early hours of the morning? Together, he and Scar turned on their communicators.

_ Welsknight has joined the Server. _

“What?” Void asked, confused. Scar sent him a perplexed look as the chat updated.

_ <Welsknight> Alright, was anyone going to tell me that we’d ended Season 6? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everyone who was told that Wels wasn't going to be in the fic:
> 
> I changed my mind.


	15. Ode to War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Rolls in two months late in Heelys and holding Starbucks.*  
> *Pushes up sunglasses, takes sip from drink*
> 
> 'Sup. Wrote this during finals so appreciate it. I told you I wouldn't abandon this.

It was surprisingly easy to slip back into the swing of things.

Life was hard, of course. It always was, when it came to the Watchers, but things fell back to a surprising level of normalcy in the Castle, with the exception of Sefsa’s presence. He sparred with Macan, trained with Exae, saw Onah every once in a while and in his free time collected various trinkets and decorated his room in Sefsa’s quarters. 

He managed a trip down to his old room around a week after he arrived. The room had been stripped bare. The cobbled-together communicator, the one he needed to contact Xisumavoid with, was gone.

Well, either the Watchers found it or Grian had taken it with him when he left. Deciding to be optimistic, he settled on the latter and started snagging bits of metal and wire when he could find it. He’d made a communicator from the bare minimum before and he could and would do it again.

Didn’t mean it would be easy though, or that he didn’t go to the infirmary at least once every few days, or even that he didn’t respawn once or twice. Such was life with the Watchers, and it was pretty easy to grow used to it. He spent his scant free time swiping spare parts, building his communicator, or spending his time in the library.

He didn’t really like the library. It was cold, and quiet, but the Watchers rarely went there and there was work to be done.

That afternoon, after a lesson with Exae that left his head throbbing and his hands trembling, he’d been sent off to the library with the closest thing Exae had to exasperation with him. In the time he’d been gone, he’d seemed to have lost all of his mental powers, and it was slow going, trying to regain his strength. He  _ knew _ what he needed to do, but he couldn’t do it, and that annoyed him to no end.

At least he hadn’t been with Macan, and had been sent off to the library instead. Situated a floor above the Grand Hall, it was just as large, filled with large tomes written on one boring subject or the other. Grian wasn’t much of a reader, so he didn’t often pay much attention to them. He walked to one of the first shelves, grabbed a book marked in red and an empty one, and set them down on the table near the entrance. 

He flipped open the red book and gave it a look-over. It was written in English, something about a complicated redstone machine that could create a “living” base, suited to fit one’s every need. Then, he grabbed the empty book, then a quill and ink, and started to write, translating the English into Galactic with the best handwriting he could manage. 

Hours passed. A few times Grian’s hand would cramp, and he’d take a break, wringing out his fingers and leaning back in his chair in such a way that would have Exae thrashing him for acting so unprofessional if they were there to see it.

He thought it was stupid. This way of sitting was much better for his back. 

It was during one of his breaks that he heard footsteps and voices through the open door. Grian fumbled in surprise—only Onah came down here regularly, and they made no sound when approaching—before picking up his quill, dipping it in the ink, and started mindlessly translating once more, one ear tuned to the conversation that was picking up in the distance.

“You listen to me,  _ wrench _ !” That was Macan, and their voice was so angry that Grain froze before remembering that he wasn’t the subject of their wrath. He took a deep breath and tried to remember the symbol for the letter  _ k _ . 

“Macan, my lord, I have told you and will tell you again, I do not know—” Sefsa, and there was a distinct tremor in her voice. Grian was surprised at that, partially because she’d never shown so much emotion before, and partially because she was holding up so well in the face of Macan’s wrath. 

“ _ Silence! _ ” Macan roared, and Grian flinched at the volume of it. Macan was the most expressive of the Watchers, sure, but even Grian had never heard him so angry before. “You know exactly what you have done!”

The doors to the library slammed open banging off the walls and sent Grian scrambling to grab his ink pot and prevent it from spilling all over his hours of work. Thankfully, he succeeded, staining his hands in spots of black but saving the two books from ruin. He glanced to the side, catching sight of Macan storming into the room. Their wings were flared in anger, hair billowing out behind them with their cloak. They were dragging Sefsa along by the arm, and the two feet of height difference between them had Sefsa stumbling as she struggled to keep up with their gait.

Grian shrunk into his seat a bit now that the furious Watcher was only a few feet away, carefully taking his hand off of the ink bottle, wiping the excess dye on the inside of his pants, where the stain could be easily hidden by his cloak. He willed himself to be small and tried to clear his mind in an attempt to appear as inconspicuous as possible.

Macan huffed loudly, pulling Sefsa forwards and then letting go of her arm. If she’d been hurt by the trip here, she didn’t show it, instead pulling her arms to her sides and saluting him.

“Don’t try that with me!” Macan snapped, and Sefsa swiftly dropped the salute. They turned swiftly towards Grian, who hurriedly returned his attention to cleaning his hands. “Xelqua, bring me a Ryzen.”

“Yes, Macan,” Grian mumbled, hurrying out of his seat. He dashed towards the back of the library as fast as he could without running. 

Ryzens were special, Watcher-specific objects. With them, a user would be able to travel to different servers without being whitelisted or knowing the IP address. All you had to do was find a specific person to focus on, and you’d be brought to the server they were currently residing in. And with the Watcher’s particular brand of sight, which saw the essence of a person instead of their appearance, there was no hiding from them once they found you.

The Ryzens were stored in the very back of the library. Grian rushed past dozens of bookshelves before he approached the storage area in the back of the room. Trying to control the subtle shake of his hands, he carefully opened the drawer that housed the three Ryzens the Watchers held. 

To the untrained eye, Ryzens looked like regular old Eyes of Ender, a small, flat cylinder colored light green that darkened to black at the center. However, instead of the regular purple particles floating around them, there was a blackish glow around them, a calling to the Void from which they had originated. 

He picked up the Ryzen on the left, holding it carefully in his hands. Without his Watcher mask and thus devoid of their sight, he wasn’t able to use it, but from such close proximity he could feel it tugging at his very essence, a promise to take him away, far away, whispering in his ears.

Grian didn’t like Ryzens all that much.

But he pushed that thought aside as he reapproached Macan and Sefsa. Sefsa seemed to be shrinking into herself even more, shoulders hunched and hands clasped in front of her. Her face, or at least the visible lower half, was schooled into an expression of emotionlessness, but her hands were shaking, just slightly. 

He passed the Ryzen up to Macan, who took it with a hiss and turned back to Sefsa.

“You explain to me how exactly a Ryzen, something made  _ by Exae themself _ , can be defective, if you are not the one at fault here.”

“Macan, I do not know—”

“Why can I not find Mumbo Jumbo’s essence?!”

Grian couldn’t help the shock that rolled through him at the name of his old friend. He hadn’t seen Mumbo Jumbo in a good year, not counting the memory gap. The last time they’d met in person had been early on in… well,  _ then _ , back before things with the Watchers got serious.

Why did Macan even know of Mumbo’s existence, much less want to find them?

Sefsa’s mouth worked, but it seemed that she’d realized that “I don’t know” wasn’t going to work again, because no sound came out and eventually she went still. 

“Who’s essence did you use to find Hermitcraft?!” Macan demanded, waving the Ryzen and causing Sefsa to flinch back.

“I… used ImpulseSV,” Sefsa stammered. “Well known member, rather distinctive. He, ah, has a love for redstone, good at working monotonously for long periods of time, has two close friends. That’s who I used.”

Macan frowned, focusing on the Ryzen. It glowed faintly, the black center turning a dark gray, then faded back to its original color. 

“Is ImpulseSV  _ permadead _ ?” He snapped patronizingly. Sefsa froze, then shook her head jerkily. 

“Not while I was there,” she mumbled.

“Then why can I not find him?”

Sefsa fell silent, face tilting to the floor. Her hands were shaking more noticeably. Macan huffed, then turned to Grian, who took an instinctive step back at suddenly bearing the brunt of their wrath.

“You know Mumbo Jumbo,” they said snappily. Grian hesitated, unwilling to answer, but with such a direct question he couldn’t lie or deflect his answer. He nodded, doing his best to try and push aside his worry of his friend. “Then you know Xisuma.”

Wait.

_ What? _

Xisuma. XisumaVoid, the one who had led him to escape the first time. Had the Watchers figured out the role he’d played in aiding him?

“I know of him,” he decided on, voice barely more than a rasp.

“You  _ knew _ Xisuma was on Hermitcraft!” Macan roared, turning back on Sefsa, who, to her credit, didn’t collapse on the spot. “You knew and  _ deliberately _ kept that from me!”

“I did not know—”

“That’s all you can say, isn’t it? ‘ _ I don’t know _ .’” Macan drew themself to their full height, wings settling just a bit to create a terrifying flare around the cloak and mask. “You have slighted me, Sefsa. I am no fool. You’ve done something to make Hermitcraft invisible to me.”

Sefsa shook her head jerkily. 

“I would never…  _ never, never, never _ ,” she protested quietly. Macan growled angrily and raised their arm. Grian took a few steps back as their massive broadsword appeared in their hand. Then their arm swung downwards, and there was a flash of blood and a feminine shriek, and Sefsa was gone in a puff of dust as she despawned from the fatal blow, a spray of blood on the wall the only sign she had ever been there.

Grian felt frozen. Macan didn’t move for a few moments, just breathing heavily as they stared at the spattered red stain on the wall. Muttering something in Galactic that Grian couldn’t make out, they moved away, sword disappearing back into their inventory in a brief flash of light.

“Clean this up,” they huffed, calmer now that they’d taken their anger out on someone. Without waiting for Grian to respond, they left the library with a flash of their cloak, taking the Ryzen with them.

Grian stood there for a few moments once they were gone, breathing heavily to try and steady his nerves. Death was never a pleasant thing, especially in the Deep End, where the Void would reach out and try to claim you whole. Sefsa could take anywhere from a few hours to a few days to respawn; Grian was inclined to think the former, though, considering how quick her death had been.

Slowly, he moved away, back to his table. He closed the two books but didn’t put them away, and capped the ink bottle. It’d be a little while until he got back to his work. Grian took another slow breath, willing his hands to steady, then pulled out the spare rag and cleaner he’d taken to keeping in his inventory, and got to work.

With Macan long gone and the other two Watchers in obscure parts of the Castle, Grian let his mind wander as he started scrubbing at the wall.

Okay. 

So Macan had been trying to make their way to Hermitcraft. That part made a little sense; Hermitcraft was the server where Mumbo lived, and they had been trying to find Mumbo. But what about his mustached friend had caught a Watcher’s eye?

ImpulseSV was the next person that had been mentioned, apparently the player Sefsa had used to travel to the Hermitcraft server. Macan hadn’t been too interested in them, and Grian felt it safe to assume they weren’t that important. XisumaVoid was next. Grian knew the player was special, since he’d been so willing to help him escape the Watchers. Maybe he’d been affiliated with them at some point? Or maybe Macan was looking for him because they’d figured out Xisuma’s role in helping Grian escape? But Macan hadn’t been focusing on Grian either, like he would have if interrogating them about the specifics of his escape, which made that explanation less likely and the whole situation more confusing.

And yet Macan had never mentioned trying to use Xisuma to travel to Hermitcraft. He was angry about not being able to find Impulse or Mumbo, yet he’d only mentioned Xisuma in the context of trying to use Mumbo to find him. If that was so, then perhaps Xisuma had some way of hiding himself from the Watchers, forcing Macan to rely on those nearest to him to find him.

Except the rest of Hermitcraft, or at the very least Mumbo and Impulse, had also figured out how to hide themselves. It was honestly astonishing. How could someone hide the very essence of who they were? It was just as impossible as trying to disguise yourself in front of a Watcher, because they knew who you were just as well as you did.

Grian pondered on that conundrum for a while as the red eventually faded out of the endstone walls. He was going to be in the library for a long while today, it seemed; Macan’s intrusion and subsequent task had cost him valuable time, and he’d have to hurry if he wanted to finish the book’s translation in time for the evening meal. 

“Xelqua.”

The soft voice behind him made Grian jerk in surprise, fumbling with the cloth and almost dropping it before turning around to see Onah in the doorway. The short-haired Watcher was gazing at him thoughtfully, and before he could stop himself Grian thought of how much of his thoughts they'd heard.

Onah only quirked their head at that, walking into the library. Grian hurriedly returned the cleaner and cloth to his inventory and dropped into a salute, curious as to what Onah wanted to do with him.

“Come now, Xelqua,” They said softly. “It is time.”

Time for what? Onah undoubtedly detected his thought but they didn’t say anything, and Grian didn’t dare ask aloud. Instead, they just turned around and left the library, and Grian hurried to follow, straightening and trotting after the taller being. 

They walked down the hallway, wings tucked tightly to their back. Grian followed a step behind, head slightly bowed as he tried to control the flurry of questions that was running through his mind. Despite everything, Onah gave no indication as to what they were doing, instead taking a staircase down a few floors, and soon enough Grian realized that they were going to the Grand Hall.

The destination surprised him. Why were they going to the Grand Hall? Grian hadn’t been there since he’d first returned, for even players who’d been chosen and elevated against the rest, like he and Sefsa, were only allowed to enter during important events.

“Sesfa has committed a great crime against us,” Onah said as they walked down the Grand Hall, jolting Grian and forcing his gaze away from the third glass mosaic on the right, of a young, unknown man dressed in green. “Knowingly… or not.”

Unsure of what to say, Grian kept quiet, and a half minute or so passed in silence before Onah spoke again.

“She will pay her dues to us,” they continued, reaching the three thrones at the head of the hall. They strode towards their bedrock throne with a base of ice. Without another word, they knelt down besides it, reaching for something behind their throne. When they rose again, Grian’s heart stuttered as he realized what they were holding.

A thin, shimmering white mask was held in their hands.

It was his. Wear a Watcher mask, and you will always know if it is really yours. Grian looked at it, so small in Onah’s hands, the broken rectangle that symbolized their power emblazoned on the front. He’d worn that for so  _ long _ , back when he was first here, that he could scarcely remember what Onah, Exae, and Macan looked like by the end of it, so used was he to seeing their essence and simply  _ knowing _ their identity. 

Conversely, in the last two weeks (and however long he’d been gone before that), he’d grown accustomed to seeing natural light again. He’d kind of liked not having the mask and being able to see with his eyes.

Part of him wanted the mask more than anything. Part of him wanted to throw it away and see it crash into a million pieces.

“You are conflicted,” Onah said. 

“Only that I am worthy of such a blessing,” Grian replied.

“Of course you are not,” Onah said, still softly and emotionlessly. “But that is to be expected, I think. You are still… imperfect.”

With a slow, smooth motion, they held the mask out. With a breath, Grian reached out and took the mask from their hands. It was the same blinding white it had always been, the black Watcher symbol centered on it stared back up at him, half mocking, half calling.

He looked up for a moment, taking in the yellow-tan of the endstone brick, the black of the obsidian arches, the purple of Onah’s cloak.

But this was no time to hesitate. Grian put the mask on.

Light vanished from his eyes, forcing the world to fall into a deep, all-encompassing black. Grian paused for a moment, adjusting, before turning to where he knew Onah was still standing. 

Serenity. Smooth, like waves lapping on a shore, but also a bitter, bitter cold. 

_ Onah _ , his heart whispered. Grian bent down and saluted the Watcher. 

“Go on, now,” Onah said, voice lilting in a way he didn’t recognize. “The apples and wheat in the greenhouse are ripe. You and your sister are running low on supplies.”

“Yes, Onah,” Grian said softly, dropping the salute and turning around, hoping he appeared more confident than he felt. It was odd, no longer seeing the objects around you, but still knowing they were there, what their shape was, what they  _ were _ .

But the mask was good, whether he liked it or not. It meant acceptance, it meant some level of trust. Whatever Sefsa had or had not done, Grian had not been implicated in it, and for that he was grateful. 

It was a bit of a long walk, from the entrance to the back of the Castle, but soon enough Grian was emerging into the open, bitingly cold air of the Deep End. He walked down the path, feeting following obsidian he could no longer see but knew was there, and headed to the small glass greenhouse that was used to grow his and Sefsa’s food. 

The greenhouse was nice. The air was humid and moist for the plants’ sake, and felt almost like overworld air. The apples had ripened over the last two weeks, and Grian had a feeling that they’d be a bright red if he could see their color. 

Grabbing the basket kept in the corner of the greenhouse, he set to work. Usually he’d fly up to be able to reach the apples, but considering that wings were specifically gifted by the Watchers and Grian had supposedly cut his off, he was left to awkwardly jump up and grab all the ones he could, filling the bottom of the basket.

Minutes stretched into a few hours as he worked, carefully harvesting the wheat he would need to make flour and cleaning the dirt off of the carrots. Then, he went to replant, relishing the feeling of the cool dirt underneath his fingernails. After the terrifying experience with Macan, it was a relief to spend some time with the one part of the Castle that bore a distinct resemblance to his home dimension. 

But as all things, that time came to an end with all the food harvested and replanted. Grian sighed, taking in the soothing surroundings around him, and reluctantly turned away. The food went into his inventory as he left the greenhouse and headed up to his and Sefsa’s room.

He opened the door to their living quarters with a sigh, pulling the food out of his inventory and starting to put it away in the kitchenette. He’d have to grind the wheat tomorrow when he had the time, for his lesson with Exae and Macan’s outburst had thoroughly exhausted him. 

The door to Sefsa’s bedroom opened behind him as he was washing his hands, carefully cleaning the nails to make sure the dirt underneath them was washed away.

Ah. That was Sesfa, and if she’d returned so quickly her death had been an easy one. For that, Grian was happy for her. He’d had one or two nasty deaths while here, and they were never pretty. Sefsa had avoided that this time. 

He turned around, mouth opening to ask if Sefsa wanted anything to eat, and  _ saw _ her.

First there was what he’d expected. She was cool, but not as cold as Onah, a lot more rough than he’d expected. But underneath, slightly faded, there was something entirely different. Warm sunny days, a bright blue sky, a thick grove of trees and a love for life.

Grian perceived her essence with his Watcher sight for the first time, and realized he knew her.

This time, his hands were the ones that shook.

She didn’t wait for him to say anything. She saw his mask, sucked in a gasp of surprise, and  _ bolted _ , flinging open the door and racing down the hallway. Grian scrambled after her, ignoring the tired aches of his muscles as he rushed to catch her.

“Wait!” He screamed, uncaring for anyone who might hear him except for her. “ _ Wait! _ ”

She didn’t listen. Instead, her wings opened, just barely small enough to scrape the walls, and propelled herself away from him. He’d never witnessed her actually flying before, but she navigated the tight confines of the hallway with an expert ease he’d never had.

“Wait!” He shouted again. She did not listen. “ _ NETTY!” _

Too late. NettyPlays, his dear old friend who’d had the prettiest smile, who’d built treehouses in Evo and went on explorative journeys with their friends, who’d been the one to invite him to her wedding, was gone.


	16. What Was Lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas! I hope everyone is having a wonderful holidays even if you don't celebrate Christmas itself. As always, thank you for your support. It's such a wonderful gift <3

_ <Docm77> You’ve got to be kidding me _

_ <Welsknight> Well hello to you too Doc _

_ <XisumaVoid> We’ve got this Doc, don’t worry about it. Where are you Welsknight? _

_ <Welsknight> ? At spawn, where else? _

_ <XisumaVoid> And where is that _

_ <Welsknight> ??? X, u ok buddy? _

_ <GoodtimeswithScar> It’s a long story. Just tell us where you are and we’ll figure things out. _

_ <Welsknight> Small sandy island in the middle of nowhere. Says Season 7 spawn. Come on guys you know this. Want me to take a boat out to the Shopping District? _

_ <Welsknight> You all are acting weird _

_ <Docm77> Stay on the island. I’m not dealing with you. _

_ <Welsknight> D:< _

_ <Welsknight> Now that’s just rude! _

_ <XisumaVoid> Doc, please for the love of the void shut up. We’re on our way. _

_ <Welsknight> :0 _

_ <Docm77> Suit yourself. _

_ <GoodtimeswithScar> Sorry. _

_ <Welsknight> ...it’s ok. Are you all alright? I’m worried _

_ <XisumaVoid> We’re fine, don’t worry. _

_ <Grian> Technically. _

Grian rubbed at his eyes, yawning as he reread the bright screen of his communicator for the upteenth time. The gentle rumbling of Keralis’ boat was lulling him into a battle with sleep that he wasn’t quite sure if he could win. It didn’t help that it was currently some ungodly early hour in the morning, the half moon shining brightly in the starry sky.

A hand clapped his shoulder, surprising Grian so that he jerked a bit, sleep momentarily forgotten as adrenaline rushed through his veins. He looked around to see Scar looking down at him, slightly amused. 

“Tired?” He asked rhetorically. Grian nodded. 

“Can’t believe I insisted on coming,” he grumbled. “Could have gotten a good night’s sleep.”

Scar just chuckled, sitting down and clasping his hands together. While the laugh was genuine, he looked a little nervous to Grian as he sat up, trying to shake the sleep from his bones. They were sitting in the back of Keralis’ boat, said owner currently sitting up at the helm with a map perched rather precariously before him. Void was sitting up at the helm, serving as a lookout, though from taking a closer look it seemed like the elder man was quite distracted by the coral reef they were currently sailing over.

“I wonder who this Welsknight guy is?” Grian mused aloud, voicing the question that had come out of each of their mouths at some point in the last two hours. Scar shrugged, fiddling with his fingers a bit before looking up at the night sky, partially covered in rolling clouds. 

“Dunno. If he’s got his memories he’ll be helpful, though.”

“ _If_ ,” Scar agreed. “If he’s nice, too.”

“I think he sounded pretty nice in chat.”

Their communicators buzzed once more in the night, and Grian pulled up the chat to see what had just gotten sent.

_ <Welsknight> You guys are taking a while… tbh y’all are freaking me out _

“What do we say to that?” Grian asked. “I mean, it’s not like we can go much faster here.”

“Keralis!” Scar called out, turning to the bow of the ship. “How much longer until we get there? Welsknight just asked.”

“Few more minutes!” Came the reply, a few moments later as Keralis checked his map and the scant stars above them. “We should be just out of sight… hopefully.”

_ <Grian> Almost there. We’re coming in from the south. _

_ <Welsknight> Okay _

The group fell silent once more after that, Grian’s previous exhaustion starting to creep up on him again. Scar had woken him up enough to keep his eye open though, and he turned his attention to the northeast, where he could just make out a small, bright speck peeking over the horizon.

The sandy island they’d used as a base to get to the one claimed by Doc and his gang. According to the signs and Welsknight, it was the Season 7 “Spawn.”

Grian’s heart was beating loudly in his chest. The mere idea of someone who had actual memories of their past both excited him and terrified him, if he was honest with himself. With Void it was always a guessing game, from half-remembered dreams to brief moments of lucidity that resulted in more confusion than answers. This person had the potential to have everything intact. What kind of player was Grian, before he’d woken up on the steps of that mansion? What about everyone else? Were they all friends, or were they all loners, or were they in factions at constant war with each other? There were so many questions, and Grian honestly had no idea if the answers were good or bad or some combination of the two.

The island was closer. It had been lit up in their absence, either by one of Doc’s people or Welsknight, which explained the brightness.

Scar sucked in a sharp breath beside him, and pointed silently. Sure enough, there was a clear figure of a player on the beach, dark against the light of the island. They were moving, and though from this distance it was hard to see the details, Grian thought they were waving.

The boat drew closer, and more details came into view. The player was a man, with long, curly blond hair pulled back in a ponytail. They wore a dark long-sleeved shirt and pants, though their belt was a bright silver that glinted in the torchlight. A little closer, and sure enough, the man was waving at them. 

At the bow, Void drew back from the helm, giving a few guiding remarks to Keralis as he brought the boat to a stop just a few feet from shore. The man waited from them at shore as they got off, each party staring at the other awkwardly.

“Well, hello to you all,” the man, presumably Welsknight said, eyes flickering between them in a mixture of worry and nervousness. “Been a while.”

“Oh, this is awkward,” Void sighed, resting his hands on his hips. “You remember, don’t you.”

“Remember what?”

“Look,” Scar interrupted, stepping forwards. “Welsknight, right?”

A slow look of realization was dawning on Welsknight’s face. “Yes…”

“Everyone lost their memories two and half weeks ago. I’m sorry, but we don’t know who you are.” Scar announced, glancing back at them before returning his attention to the man before them. “So far you’re the only person to remember their past completely.”

Welsknight blinked. Then, slowly, he sat down on the sand, staring blankly at the ground.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said to the grains at his feet.

“Are you alright?” Grian asked, walking up so he was a few feet away. “I know, we’re still trying to figure it out—”

“I can’t even _yell_ at you guys anymore!” Welsknight practically wailed. “I spend a whole _week_ in Season 6, trying to figure out where everyone is, almost _permakill_ myself in Doc’s inventions trying to get to Season 7, and you all have _lost your damn memories!_ ”

“Sorry?” Grian offered half-heartedly. Welsknight just jammed his palms over his mouth and screamed into them.

The four of them stood there for a moment, shooting silent looks to each other in an attempt to figure out what to do next, before Welsknight sighed heavily, standing back up and brushing the sand off of his pants. 

“Well, at least it explains a lot,” he drawled, suddenly sounding much more tired. “Alright, do you guys remember _anything?_ ”

“Basic names for items,” Keralis offered half-heartedly. “Besides that not much.”

“We’ve figured out weapons, and potions, and how to pick up and place items,” Void said, ticking off his fingers. “Found out people can respawn the hard way.”

“Found out about monsters the hard way,” Grian added.

“Found out about _Docm_ the hard way,” Scar huffed.

“Oh boy.” Welsknight interrupted, holding up a hand. “Please tell me you all haven’t started killing each other.”

“There were a _few_ close calls,” Grian admitted, feeling like a child confessing a misdeed to their father. Welsknight somehow managed to look even more tired.

“Docm has a whole gang on the big island over there,” Keralis offered. “Found out it wasn’t a good idea to go there the hard way.”

“Of _course_ it was Doc,” Welsknight grumbled. “Of _course._ Love the man, but once he claims a group as his own he’s not quick to let newcomers in. Amnesia probably made him worse.”

“Worse?” Void asked. 

“Yeah. Doc’s a lovely guy, trust me. I’d trust him—well, pre-amnesia him—with my life.” Welsknight shook his head, giving them all a good glance over. “Why’d you all come in on a ship, anyways? Where’s your elytra?”

“What’s elytra?” Grian and Scar asked at the same time.

Welsknight groaned. 

“Nevermind.”

* * *

“Oh! Welsknight, tell me what I was like!” Grian exclaimed, bouncing on the edge of his seat. Welsknight, the poor man, was starting to look even more overwhelmed at the younger man’s hyperactivity, but started speaking nonetheless. Void drew his attention away from the ocean speeding past them to watch them converse. 

“You can just call me Wels,” Welsknight was saying, and Void made the mental correction. “You’re Grian, I _think_ you’re around 26, but you might have had your birthday while I was gone and I don’t know when that is. I’ll admit, I don’t know you too well. You joined only a few months before I fell asleep and we didn’t interact that much before then. You were a very talented builder, maybe one of the best I’ve ever seen here. Had a penchant for pranks and starting wars.”

“There were wars?!” Scar exclaimed, looking rather alarmed. Wels was quick to shake his head.

“‘ _Wars_ ,’” he clarified, making large quotations with his fingers. “They were all in good fun; made everything a bit more interesting.”

“That’s a relief,” Grian said, making a relieved expression. Wels shrugged. 

“That’s the most I know,” he continued. “Sorry, Gri. You haven’t been here too long and we don’t ask about people’s pasts.”

“Why not?” Void put in. 

“Well, we are called _Hermit_ craft for a reason. You coded the server specifically so that you can’t find the ip unless invited in by you yourself, usually with everyone’s unanimous consent. People come here either because they’re more of the loner type, they want to avoid outside interaction, or they’re running from something. Either way, we don’t usually ask.”

“Code?”

“Oh, uh,” Wels paused, tapping at his chin. “Well, that’s a little harder to explain, X. So, you’re the admin of the server, right? That means you spawned in this world, and because of that you have a special command over it. Would you mind showing me your communicator?”

Void picked at the bracelet’s latch at his pulse point, eventually getting a good grip and popping it off, passing it to Wels, who took it and pulled up chat, illuminating them all in a soft blue glow. He then turned to his own communicator, positioning it so both screens appeared next to each other.

“Ok,” Wels continued. “This is how an admin communicator—yours, X—looks compared to mine, a regular player. See how there are some options in Galactic down there?” He pointed to the lower right-hand corner of the screen. 

“That’s Galactic?” Grian questioned, leaning forwards until his nose was almost touching the screen. “Seems familiar.”

“Not to me,” Scar said, a look of complete bafflement on his face.

“Galactic’s a tricky language,” Wels replied. “It’s Ender Speak. Usually only admins learn it because they’re the only ones who need to. It’s notoriously difficult to learn.”

“No, Binary’s the hard one,” Xisuma said matter of factly. “Galactic’s easy enough, especially in writing, but Binary’s a pain to learn. All ones and zeroes, but you have to know it if you want to mess with a world’s code. Galactic only gets you as far as player files and basic world generation. I learned both to keep Hermitcraft running.”

Everyone turned to him, giving the admin an odd look. Void blinked, surprised at the sudden attention.

“Did I say something?”

“I thought you had amnesia, X,” Wels said. “Even I didn’t know part of that.”

“He does that sometimes,” Keralis interjected, turning around from his place at the steering wheel. “Void’s memory loss is different than ours. He remembers things sometimes, but only in dreams and a few seconds at a time when awake. He can’t control it.”

“Gave me a heart attack when he suddenly started crafting a fishing pole for me when I said I didn’t have one,” Grian chuckled as Void drew a hand over his helmet, a bit embarrassed. “That’s how we figured out what crafting tables were.”

“Huh,” Wels said, leaning back a bit. A contemplative look was on his face. “Can you read this Galactic, X?” 

“Sure,” Void said, peering at the words in the corner of his screen. Unlike the Overworld word he’d been struggling with over the past few weeks, the symbols came to mind easily enough. “‘Debug and Operator.’ Honestly, I never really paid them much attention.”

“↸ᒲʖ⚍⊣ and ʖ!¡ᒲ∷ᔑℸ ̣ 𝙹∷, right?” Grian asked, reddening a bit when everyone turned to him. “I said it looked familiar!”

“It’s ↸ᒷʖ⚍⊣ and 𝙹!¡ᒷ∷ᔑℸ ̣ 𝙹∷, actually,” Void corrected, the instructions slipping easily off of his tongue. “ᒷ, not ᒲ, and 𝙹 instead of ʖ. Easy mistakes, the letters are pretty similar.”

“Welp, I’m lost,” Scar announced, throwing up his hands. Grian laughed a bit nervously, patting him on the shoulder. 

“Interesting,” Wels mumbled. “Your language skills are intact. Makes sense since you’re all still speaking to me, but I didn’t know you knew Galactic, Grian.” He held up a hand when Grian opened his mouth to respond. “And that’s not a surprise to me. Maybe you were an admin some time ago, maybe you learned it for fun. Not my place to know.” Grian opened his mouth again, and Wels pressed on. “I mean it, Grian. Pasts here are very private, and frankly I feel a little uncomfortable with you giving out information you don’t know the value of.”

“Oh,” Grian said, looking down. 

“We’re getting close,” Keralis announced, and Void looked up. Sure enough, they were entering the mouth of the river that led to the lake Scar’s house was situated next to. The navigator said as much to Welsknight, who nodded. There were some monsters on the riverbank, but thankfully the river was big enough that any skeletons shot arced over the boat as it went along, fighting against the current.

“You said you were living in a starter base, right?” Wels asked, turning off the communicators and handing Void his back.

“Yeah, it’s by that huge mansion in the background,” Scar said, pointing to where the build was beginning to loom over the jungle canopy. “Mansion’s empty but the house is cozy enough. We think it’s Grian’s.”

“Makes sense,” Wels agreed, peering up at the mansion. “That palace looks like something Grian might build.”

“Really?” Grian said, awe overtaking his features. Void suddenly thought of the tower he’d woken up in, that first day. Had he built _that_ , perhaps? 

Wels was nodding. “That,” he said. “Is why I asked why you weren’t using elytra.”

“What _is_ elytra?” Scar asked. 

“ _Are_ elytra, and I’ll show you tomorrow, if I can find any. It’s an in-person experience.” Wels smiled to himself. “Can’t wait to get a pair for myself. Going the first few weeks without them is always the worst part of beginning a Season.”

“What’s a Season?” Keralis put in.

“That is also a question for the morning,” Wels said, leaning back and closing his eyes. “I don’t know about you, but I’m well exhausted after my journey.” He cracked open one eye, shooting them a look. “ _My journey_ is also a morning question.” He then glanced at the sky. “A later in the morning question.”

Grian and Scar laughed at that, the latter finally beginning to droop once more, yawning.

Conversation lulled for a time as they duckedlower to avoid the monsters' sight, Keralis parking them near the well-lit village near Scar’s Snail. It was a bit of a dash to get to Grian’s house after that, Wels saving Keralis from an arrow as they shoved each other through the door, breathless and now well and truly exhausted.

“Hello old and new friends!” 

Void looked up from where he was checking Keralis for any nicks to see Stress waving at them. She was in one of Grian’s borrowed sweaters (only slightly too big because said man was so short; not that he’d ever admit it after Mumbo brought it up four days ago) and a pair of sweatpants, tired but happy to see them. Professor Beak was perched on her shoulder. Mumbo, meanwhile, was snoring on the dining room table, just barely in sight of the entranceway.

“Good to see you too, Stress,” Wels laughed a bit. Stress blinked a bit before smiling again.

“I thought you hadn’t lost your memory!” She said brightly. “Here, come inside! I made hot chocolate!”

“That sounds _heavenly_ ,” Grian yawned, striding towards the kitchen. Stress followed suit as Void and others went and sat down on the dining room table, careful not to disturb Mumbo, who only snored a little louder before settling down.

“Looks like someone was unsuccessful in staying up for us,” Void laughed as Grian and Stress returned, holding steaming cups of cocoa. The drinks were passed around, a special mug with a straw given to Void so he could drink it through the small opening in his helmet he used for eating.

“I’m Welsknight,” Wels said, standing briefly to shake hands with Stress, who giggled at his actions. 

“I’m Stressmonster, but you probably already know that,” she replied brightly. “You must’ve had quite a journey to get here. Everything alright?”

“Besides all my friends being amnesiacs and in different factions? I’m peachy. But it’s a problem for the morning, I think.”

“I think Mumbo agrees with you,” Keralis put in, sending everyone into soft laughter once more. 

“Mumbo could sleep through and avalanche and hardly stir,” Wels chuckled. “His body is trying to compensate for never being _able_ to sleep, I think. We won’t be bothering him.”

“That is true,” Void agreed, pausing to take a long sip of the sweet drink. “I’ve been sharing a room with him.”

The conversation lulled a bit, everyone drinking cocoa and getting more and more visibly tired. Scar pinched himself a few times, and by the time Grian was leaning on Stress’ shoulder and starting to drool, Void decided it was no use trying to stay up any later.

“We should start heading off to bed, I think,” he suggested. “Wels can stay with Mumbo and I; we have enough room.”

Stress nodded, nudging Grian awake, who jerked up, blinking rapidly.

“‘M up!” He exclaimed. 

“Not for long,” Scar replied, standing and clapping his friend’s shoulder. “Pleasure to re-meet you, Wels. Hopefully we can figure things out in the morning.”

Wels nodded quietly, and soon enough everyone was filing out. Void finished off the last of his drink as Keralis led a barely-awake Mumbo to his room, turning to Welsknight.

“I hope this hasn’t been too awkward for you,” he said. “I’m sorry about the situation.”

“I don’t _think_ it’s your fault,” Wels replied with a yawn. “I’m not mad either way. We’ll see how I’ll be feeling in the morning.”

Void shook his head. “The morning will be interesting,” he agreed. “Follow me. I’ll show you your room.”

“A bed sounds _fantastic_.”

* * *

_Xisuma was almost asleep when he heard the door to his rooms creak._

_His eyes shot open, limbs tangling in his blankets as he hurried to grab the mask perched on his bedside table, slipping it onto his face easily and dropping it over his eyes. The lights faded away into the perception indicative of a Watcher, and he turned to the open door, trying to see who’d come to visit._

_“It’s just me, silly,”_ _~~the thing~~ _ _his brother said, voice strong and confident in a way that Xisuma’s had never been. Xisuma scowled, slipping off his mask and putting it back. Sure enough, there was Jutne in the doorway, leaning on the frame. His cloak pooled out and around his feet; they were still too young, and thus too short, for even the smallest cloaks Exae had to give them, and it was sacreligious to think of cutting them to fit, so they made do with too-big cloaks._

_Xisuma chose to focus on the pooling of Jutne’s cloak on the floor instead of the smirk donning their face._

_Evil always lies._

_“What do you want?” he asked sharply, gripping his blankets even tighter._

_“I snuck into the Grand Hall today!” Jutne sang, hopping into the room. “Macan’s_ finally _getting tired of you! Exae’s getting their way and_ I’m _gonna be their admin!”_

_“You’re lying,” Xisuma spat, holding the blankets tighter to disguise how his hands shook. Jutne was lying, because evil always lies. “You’re just trying to get me all scared, Evil!”_

_“Don’t call me that! I heard it and it’s true! Exae’s gonna get rid of you!”_

_“They would never! I’ve been doing great in my tests!”_

_“Macan says otherwise!”_

_“Well, I’m doing better than_ you _, Evil!”_

_“Don’t CALL ME THAT!” Jutne screamed, rage flitting across his features. Xisuma held firm, despite how similar that face was to his own._

_“Why not?” He snapped, slipping out of bed. “I’m the_ real _admin! You’re just some half-baked copy!”_

_Jutne drew back as if struck._

_“We’ll see who’s laughing when you’re getting thrown out into the void,” he hissed, then turned around in a flash, almost tripping over the cloak with limbs that were just beginning to outgrow the rest of his body. Then he was gone, striding down the hallway and muttering curses under his breath._

_Xisuma watched until he was out of sight, then softly closed the door and leaned against it with a sigh._

_“Evil always lies,” he said, aloud this time. It was more comforting when he said it aloud. “Evil always lies.”_

_Macan said he was going to be the best admin the Watchers had ever seen. They had to be right. Xisuma had five and a half more years before he came of age, before he and Jutne would stand before Exae._

_One of them was going to become the Watchers’ admin._

_That person was going to be Xisuma._

_“Evil always lies.”_

_He hoped._


	17. Now is Found

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my defense this is a very long chapter.

Cleo was in the middle of waking herself up when there was a knocking at the door. 

She lifted up her head from where she was resting it on her forearms, glancing at Tango, who was in the middle of making pancakes for the two of them. Her questioning look was met with an identical expression, just as lost as she was. Ever since she and Tango had taken up residence in the snail, no one had initiated a visit with them, mostly leaving her and Tango to do their own thing.

“I’ll get it,” Cleo yawned, standing up. Tango shot her a thumbs up, starting to take the pancakes out of the pan.

It was a short few steps from their jerry-rigged table to the door, and Cleo opened it with an apprehensive breath.

Then she relaxed when she saw who it was. Stress was visible from the torso up, straddling the top of the ladder. The parrot, whose name Cleo had either forgotten or never learned, was perched on her shoulder, which was by now a more familiar sight than not.

“Good morning, Cleo!” Stress greeted her cheerfully. “Did you and Tango sleep well.”

“Like a baby,” Cleo responded, her lips twitching into a smile despite herself. Stress, she’d discovered, tended to have that kind of effect on people. “What brings you here this morning?” She turned back to the kitchen briefly, and called out “It’s Stress!” to a waiting Tango.

“Have either of you checked your communicators?”

“No,” Cleo shook her head.

“They were going off all last night!” Stress laughed. “I’m glad our antics didn’t disturb you. Anyways, we have good news!”

“What is it?” Cleo asked, stepping aside. “And come in, I feel weird talking down on you like this.”

“Ah, thank you.” Stress huffed as she pulled herself up the last few rungs, taking Cleo’s hand and stepping inside the doorframe. “So…” She glanced between Cleo and Tango, both excited and a little apprehensive. Out of the corner of her eye, Cleo watched Tango finishing the pancakes and turning to listen a little skeptically, arms crossed. “We have good news! A new person joined us last night!”

“Really? Who?”

“His name is Welsknight. Average height, curly blond hair, quite attractive I must admit, the works. And here’s the best part—” she clapped her hands. “He  _ has his memory _ .”

Cleo’s mouth dropped open. Tango straight-up dropped his spatula, the utensil dropping to the floor as he strode towards him.

“Really?” He exclaimed. “He knows who we are?!”

“Yes!” Stress said, turning towards him. “Apparently there’s other worlds besides this one, and he came here just last night. Because of that he missed whatever made us lose all our memories. That’s why I came—Wels has been interested in talking to you two. I know you’ve both been kind of keeping to yourselves, but I wanted you to have this opportunity.”

Wow. Cleo blinked a few times, digesting the information. Here was a chance to learn about who she was! She turned to Tango, and they shared a few silent looks before coming to one of agreement.

“Well,” Tango sighed. “We can eat on the road, I suppose.” He went and grabbed a few pancakes, passing two to Cleo, who took them with a look of thanks.

It’s quick work, Cleo grabbing her bag (found in the depths of the chests littered outside, claimed because no one was using it anyways) and slinging it over her shoulder. Tango grabbed a large, slender knife he’d grown attached to, and as always, Cleo’s diamond sword went to her hip. Stress didn’t mention the addition of weapons, instead complementing Tango’s cooking when offered a pancake and never drifting more than a few feet away from the door. Friendly as ever, she was the first one out, Cleo following and Tango closing the door behind them.

The walk to the other house across the lake is actually quite pleasant. Cleo’s gotten to know Stress a bit better in the last few days, the latter insisting they have “girl time” every once in a while. The shorter woman certainly acted no different now, save a bit more happy, and she laughingly explained how crowded the house is getting, now that there were three men to a room. Stress commenting on how having a room of her own  _ is so freeing _ was funny enough to get a few good laughs from Cleo and an eye roll from Tango.

That’s what Cleo liked about Stress, she supposed. Something about her was so charming that it was easy to be around her, despite everything that had happened in the last few weeks. 

Soon enough they were in the front lawn of the mountainside house, and Stress was opening the front door.

It was near chaos inside. Her first glance had Cleo seeing no stranger with the curly blond hair Stress had described. But Cub was sitting at the large dining table, Mumbo at his side and papers strewn across it as they went over them together. Scar was sitting on the other side of the table, a mug of coffee in his hand and looking barely even half awake.

“Stress! You’re back!” Cleo turned around, and there was Grian. He was in a red sweater and blue jeans, and was beaming up at them. The man continued: “Cleo, Tango! Great to see both of you here. Stress convinced you to go see Wels, didn’t she?”

“Yep,” Cleo responded, watching as Scar went to stand up and almost tripped over his own feet, prompting Cub to scold him for almost spilling his coffee over their papers. She wasn’t used to a crowded chaos like this. Part of it was overwhelming, but the other part of her found it enticing. “What’s going on?”

“Taking inventory! Wels wants to see what we have on hand.” Grian brightened further. “Do you remember the wing things we all initially woke up with? Apparently they’re called elytra and we can use them to learn how to  _ fly _ ! Wels is going to teach me how!”

“Huh,” Tango said.

“I know, right?!”

“Do you know where Wels  _ is _ , Grian?” Stress interrupted. 

“He’s back in that space in the mountain. You know, right? He’s setting up the elytra with Void.”

“Awesome. I’ll leave you to finish your  _ very important _ work, then.” Stress waved Tango and Cleo over. “Come on!”

Together, the trio left the entrance behind. Stress nudged her shoulder and the parrot flew off her shoulder and to a small green enclosure built into the wall. They passed Cub and Mumbo by, Stress sharing a brief greeting with both, and pushed through to the back of the house, a section Cleo hadn’t been to yet.

“Over here!” Stress directed them to a door in the back wall, and opened it to reveal natural sunlight. Cleo followed her out to see that they’d come out in a small valley of sorts. The mountain rose steeply on all sides, dozens of feet in the air, but the sky was uncovered, sending in rays of warm sunlight. 

Sitting in the middle of the clearing was Void, yellow armor almost blindingly bright in the light, and a man matching Cleo’s description. He was in a black shirt and pants, a brown jacket draped over his shoulders. He looked up at the trio’s entrance, and Cleo noted that his eyes were a deep cerulean blue

“Cleo! Tango!” The man (Welsknight, Cleo presumed), greeted them with a smile and a wave. Void looked up at their arrival, and Cleo noticed that, sure enough, there were two pairs of the wings (elytra) from their wake up two weeks ago. Not only that, but there was a mess of leather and wire straps strewn between them, organized enough to appear just shy of chaos. “I’m Welsknight, but please just call me Wels. It’s great to see you guys again.”

“Hi,” Cleo waved a bit, Tango silent behind her, simply watching with those red-black eyes of his. If it bothered Wels, he didn’t show it.

“What are you up to?” Stress asked, motioning to the elytra and leather on the grass.

“Wels is showing me how to set up elytra,” Void replied, not taking his eyes off the elytra as he spoke. 

“They’re the best way to get around a community as spread out as this one,” Wels explained. “The trip to the spawn island would only take fifteen minutes with Elytra, instead of two hours by boat.”

“Really?” Cleo said, eyeing the material closer than she had before. It shimmered like her sword did in the sunlight, a light purple rippling across the material. 

“Here, would you mind helping us out?” Wels asked, standing up. “I need a model to show X here, and we can talk in the meantime.”

“If you show me how to use these elytra things,” Cleo quipped back. There was something about Wels, that, like Stress made him easygoing and easy to trust.

“Deal,” Wels chucked, bending down and picking up one of the wings by the top, where they joined together. As he lifted them up, Cleo realized they were attached to the mass of leather and wire, coming up into the air with it. “Okay, mind if I put this on you?” When Cleo nodded, he stepped forwards, motioning to Void. “Watch how I do it.” He turned back to Cleo, pointing at a particular strap of leather that looped like a stirrup. 

It took a good ten minutes to get the elytra on. Not only was the strapping more complicated, but there was also distinctly more of it than Cleo remembered waking up with. As they talked, Wels giving out his particular memories of her and Tango as they went, she watched as the leather looped around her arms, down to her hands, and around her abdomen. There were much less of them on her legs, just enough to attach to her feet and keep them in place.

Her name was ZombieCleo, and she was one of the oldest members of Hermitcraft, joining a few years before Wels had. She apparently had a knack for what he called “armor stand art,” something that was, apparently, notoriously difficult to learn. Tango, or TangoTek, had joined before Wels as well, around the same time Cleo had. He had been especially close with two people named ImpulseSV (“Impulse”) and Zedaph last Wels had checked. Cleo had spent most of her time with a “man” (Wels had made the quotation marks, though from the tone of his voice he was joking) named Joe Hills, the same person who had written the “Welcome to Season 7!” sign on the sandy island they’d passed by on their way back to the jungle three weeks ago. 

“Where could they even be?” Tango asked once they were almost finished, a distinct look of interest on his face. The wings were sitting securely on Cleo’s back by now, silky and light to the touch. 

Wels shrugged as he adjusted one of the straps on Cleo’s left arm. “There hasn’t been any death messages from them in chat, so I’m not extremely concerned. We’re a hardy, ingenuitive bunch, so they’re probably all right. Chances are they were out gathering resources or in distant bases when you all lost your memories.”

“Sounds about right,” Void agreed. “I only ended up in my base because I died right after waking up.” Wels shot him an alarmed look, and he explained. “I was using my elytra, fell in the ocean, and didn’t know I needed my helmet to breathe.”

“Ouch.”

“It’s alright.” He laughed a bit, though it didn’t exactly sound humorous. “I’ve learned my lesson.”

“I hope so.” Wels stepped back from Cleo, looking her over. “Ok, you’re ready. Let me get my elytra on so I can show you how to use them.”

As Wels started putting on his own pair of elytra, Cleo looked over hers, examining the material. The leather hugged her body snugly, tight but not enough to hurt. Experimentally, she raised her arms. There was a  _ woosh _ of air behind her, followed by a yelp, and she jerked around to realize that the wings had shot up and were now parallel to the ground, having hit Stress in the process.

“Sorry!” She apologized, a little embarrassed. She lowered her arms, and the Elytra went down with them. “But wow, that’s cool.”

“It’s alright,” Stress assured her, waving a hand as she rubbed her nose. “It didn’t hurt; just surprised me is all.”

“Alright, I’m ready!” Wels announced, drawing everyone’s attention to him. He’s taken much less time than she had to put on the elytra, and Cleo realized he also had less straps covering his body. They covered his upper chest and shoulders like hers did, but they stopped at the elbows and hips, unlike her own.

“Wait,” Void interrupted, glancing between them. “Yours is different.”

Wels nodded. “Cleo’s got the beginner’s set. The extra gear is kind of like training wheels; it’s much easier to maneuver the wings with and much safer when it comes to landing. My set,” he patted his chest. “Is much more difficult. You have to make precise movements, mostly in your shoulders and elbows, but it leaves you open to doing more things besides flying while in the air, as well as more complicated maneuvers.”

“Wow,” Tango said, eyes wide. Wels grinned at him.

“Watch this,” he teased, crouching down. He flexed his shoulders, and the wings shot out behind him with a  _ woosh _ of air. He pulled something out of… Cleo blinked. Where  _ had _ he gotten the firework now in his hand from?

The thoughts distracted her enough that the  _ pop _ of the firework caught her off guard. There was a puff of smoke and blast of hot air, and then Wels was gone. 

“Where is he?!” Stress cried out in surprise. Void pointed upwards, and Cleo tilted her head back.

Now little more than a speck in the blue sky, Cleo’s mouth dropped as she made out Wels’ form. He was a good hundred feet in the air right now, and all in a few seconds! She and the others watched in shock and awe as he gradually descended, looping in gentle circles. He spun round a few times, twirling in the air a bit. A few feet from the ground, he dropped his legs and the wings drooped a little, allowing him to land in a standing position and skid only a few steps. 

“What do you think?” He asked with a grin, pushing back some flyaway hairs. “Awesome, right?”

“I’m next,” Tango said.

“You’re going to have to fight Grian for that, I’m afraid,” Wels chuckled. “He’s been bouncing off the walls to try it out all morning.” He turned to Cleo. “Ready to try?”

“Yeah…” Cleo said slowly, before continuing on with more confidence. “You better. How did you do that?”

Wels flicked his wrist behind his back, and more fireworks appeared in his hand. He passed one to Cleo.

“I’ll explain inventory to you later,” he said, seeming to note her and Tango’s look of astonishment. “You haven’t had that taught to you yet, so just ignore it for now. Okay, raise your arms.” He leaned over to check behind her. “Might want to get out of the way this time, Stress.”

The other woman laughed, stepping a few feet to the right. Once she was securely out of range, Cleo lifted her arms like she had before, and the wings snapped up once again.

“The trick with Elytra is having an understanding of  _ physics _ and  _ balance _ ,” Wels continued, walking around her. “The hot air from a firework is caught by the elytra’s wings—” he took a gentle hold of one. “And propels you up into the air. Once you’re in the air, where you go depends on your center of gravity. Lean left, and you’ll fly left. Lean right, and you’ll fly right. Same goes for up and down. You’ll be operating in three dimensions.

“Actually, let me rephrase myself a bit, because flying isn’t exactly the right word. We aren’t birds when wearing elytra.” He dropped the wing. “We don’t really  _ fly, _ we  _ glide _ . You can accelerate yourself by firing a firework, like I did to get off the ground, but there isn’t any way to decelerate besides waiting for the acceleration to fade. Because of that, my first piece of advice when flying?” He held up a finger, serious. “ _ Always _ be aware of your speed, especially when approaching the ground. The most common cause of death on the server comes from misuse of elytra, and I don’t think you want to respawn right now.”

“Nope,” Cleo said with a shake of her head. Wels smiled at her.

“Great!” He said, cheerful once more. “Now show us what you got!”

Cleo blinked, looking down at the firework in her hands. “You just want me to take off? What if something happens?”

“You’ll be alright as long as you mind your balance and speed. And I’ll go up with you, just in case. Best way to learn elytra is through practice.”

Cleo’s mouth was suddenly quite dry. She licked her lips, glancing at Tango. Getting a look of reassurance in return, she steeled herself, crouching down like Wels had, and pulled on the string at the end of the firework. There was a blast of cold air above her and a warm one below her, the shock of it causing her to snap her eyes shut, stomach lurching in her chest. Wind rushed past her, solid ground was left behind, and her wings snapped up even further, pulling at her shoulders with a strength of their own. She opened her eyes as the wind slowed, looking up at the sky. 

Then she looked down.

A scream ripped out of Cleo’s throat, despite herself. The canopy of the jungle was now  _ way _ below her, the valley she’d just been in even deeper down. Her friends were now tiny pinpricks, stark against the green grass.

Her acceleration stopped. For a moment, she hung in the air, weightless.

And then gravity kicked in. 

There was a flash of black besides her, black against blue.

“Cleo!” Wels was shouting. “Raise your arms! You’re fine!”

For a moment, all Cleo could do was breathe, watching the ground rush up at her. Then, finally, the words clicked into place, and she snapped up her arms. The wings once again went taught, and the fall slowed. The straps on her lower body tugged on her feet, raising her body into a vertical position.

“There you go!” Once again Wels’ voice reached her ears, and Cleo looked to her right to see Wels flying past, the wind blowing his hair free from its ponytail. 

The movement had her flight path changing to head in the same direction as her gaze, and Cleo remembered Wels’ instructions on being mindful of her balance just in time to avoid the topmost branches of the jungle canopy, steering herself into the valley. Wels rushed past her, much faster in his descent than his previous flight, but touched down just as easily by jerking his shoulders back and pulling out of the dive to land with a soft  _ thump _ .

Cleo attempted to copy the move a few feet from landing. Pulling her arms behind her back, the leather straps on her hips and legs loosened, causing her to drop back into a vertical position, feet down and ready to land. Sadly, the ground didn’t exactly seem to agree with that, and she tripped over her own feet, very nearly faceplanting before a hand was on her upper arm, jerking her back. 

It took her a good half a minute to adjust to having her feet on solid ground, the soil seeming to sway underneath her before she found her balance once more.

“Wow,” Cleo breathed, blinking a few times as she tried to center herself. The hand on her arm left, and she bent down, putting her hands on her knees. “ _ That _ was something.”

“You did great!” Wels said. “I’ll admit, I was expecting to have to catch you midair and guide you down myself, but you caught your bearings remarkably quick. I only had to stop you from falling once you hit the ground.”

“You were expecting me to fall?” Cleo exclaimed, giving him a look. Wels gave her a knowing once in return.

“It’s part of the learning process. When Void taught Scar, he had to do what we just did a good dozen times before the guy actually got around to raising his arms.”

“I taught Scar?” Void asked. Cleo looked over to him in surprise, having nearly forgotten the armored man’s presence in his silence. 

“It was tradition,” Wels said. “For you to teach the newest members of Hermitcraft how to use elytra, if they already didn’t know how. ‘A bonding experience,’ you would say.” He took on a nostalgic look. “I remember when you taught me! It’s weird doing the same to you.”

“Think of it as repaying the favor!” Stress exclaimed cheerfully. 

Cleo picked at the straps of her elytra a bit as Tango walked towards her, Void turning to talk to Stress and Void.

“What did you think?” He asked, bumping shoulders with her. Cleo smiled at him and bumped him back.

“Completely and utterly terrifying,” she said truthfully. “I can’t wait to go again.”

* * *

The rest of the day went much the same way. Wels said he wanted to cycle through everyone present to teach them the basics of elytra, just in case, despite the fact that they only had two. Cleo got a few more tries, then got to witness Tango and then Void have a few runs as well. Her friend had to get caught by Wels twice before he figured out how to glide, while Void got it on the first try like Cleo had, his landing being near perfect.

Wels sent them away after they were finished to get Grian, who went with Stress for their turns on the elytra. Cleo almost went back home, but then Scar was asking Tango to help him hose down the kitchen from a botched baking attempt (learning how to cook in a wooden house was  _ not  _ a good idea, what had he been thinking?), and Cleo found herself with Keralis, who showed her what an “inventory” was. 

It was fascinating! By reaching behind her with a specific intent in mind, a player was able to access a subspace pocket called their  _ inventory _ . Cleo’s inventory was filled mostly with, surprisingly enough, black carpet and white wool, with a few tools (a diamond axe, shovel, and a pair of shears), but Keralis said that they’d found various other supplies in everyone else’s inventories when Wels had instructed them on how to access it. Grian had had an extra pair of elytra in his inventory, and the pair he’d initially woken up with had formed the two they were using for practice right now. 

When the kitchen fire was suitably contained, Stress took over the kitchen, kicking Tango and Scar out to sulk as she roped Grian into helping her out with making lunch.

“Cleo!” She called out maybe twenty minutes later, head peeking out of the kitchen door. “Mind helping us pass out the food?”

“Sure!” Cleo replied, standing up from where she and Tango had been organizing the contents of their inventories. “You good if I leave?” She asked, turning to her friend. Tango nodded, waving her away with a chuckle, and she stood up, hurrying to the kitchen. “Did you both avoid catching anything on fire this time.”

“Barely,” Stress answered with a laugh. “I don’t think we’ll be using that furnace over there for a while, though.” She gestured to a particularly scorched looking furnace in the corner. “I’ve tried telling Scar not to cook on his own, but he doesn’t listen to me. He likes it  _ so _ much but can’t seem to follow basic safety procedures.”

“Eh, no real harm done,” Grian replied, passing a plate full of a variety of meats to Cleo, who took it wordlessly. “You know how Scar is, Stress. Anyways, what did you think of the elytra, Cleo? Wasn’t it great?” 

Cleo nodded with a smile. “Yeah! It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before. How did your training go?”

Grian grinned, eyes lighting up. “Awesome! I got it first try, but then almost face-planted trying to land, so Wels had to catch me at that point. He says I’m doing really good with it though. Apparently I used to be one of the best flyers on the server!”

“Sounds about right.”

Stress clucked her tongue, interrupting them by shoving a plate of sliced bread into Grian’s hands. “That’s enough, both of you! Go set this out and tell everyone we’re having sandwiches. Make sure to let Wels know, too; he’s out with Cub and Mumbo right now and they’ve probably worked up an appetite!”

“Alright, alright,” Cleo replied, faux annoyed. The two left the other woman in the kitchen and went to the dining room. Cub and Mumbo had cleaned up the table, so they set down the food in the middle, Stress joining them shortly afterwards with plates and silverware. 

Cleo’s communicator buzzed as soon as the food was set out, and she blinked a few times in surprise, sharing a look with her companions, before turning it on.

_ MumboJumbo hit the ground too hard. _

“Huh?” Grian said in confusion, peeking over Cleo’s shoulder to get a good look. “What does that mean?”

Before anyone could reply, Welsknight rushed into the room, door slamming into the wall behind him as he entered. Elytra trailing behind him and hair windswept as if he’d just dropped out of the sky, he thundered past Tango, starting him so that he nearly fell over, and up the stairs to the bedrooms. 

“Training accident!” He shouted as he went out of eyesight. Cub entered the room from the same doorway Wels had a moment later, slower and a bit more ashen-faced.

“What happened, Cub?” Stress asked worriedly. The elder man shook his head, running a hand through his hair. 

“Mumbo just died,” he said frankly. “Came in for the landing much too quickly. Wels tried to catch him, but he couldn’t slow them both down enough for it to work.”

Cleo recalled how Wels had warned her about being mindful of physics when flying, and winced, rubbing at her arm. Besides Void and Docm that one time, no one had died, and the previous two’s examples had been some time ago. 

“How long will it take him to respawn?” Tango questioned, a little quietly. Cub just shrugged, looking more than a little lost. 

“Wels didn’t exactly say anything,” he explained, then shook himself. “But I’m sure Mumbo will be fine. Wels can take care of him.” He glanced over at the table. “Lunch is ready, I presume?”

“Yeah,” Grian said. “Might as well eat, I suppose.”

Things stayed a little quiet after that, the mood sombered with Mumbo and Wels’ absences. The sandwiches were good, at least, but Cleo was finding that she didn’t have much of an appetite, which left her picking at her food and eventually giving her leftovers to Grian, who devoured it easily. 

After they were done, Cub was quick to start assigning tasks once more, probably trying to distract everyone from whatever was going on upstairs. Void, who Wels has shown the most about elytra, was sent out to gather Mumbo’s things, left over from his death, and fix said equipment from the fall. Stress and Keralis cleaned the dishes, Tango went back to sorting his inventory without much prompting, and Scar went off to feed Professor Beak, who was starting to grow quite vocal in his desire for food.

Wels came down an hour or so later, looking a little worse for wear but much less frazzled than he had when he’d gone up. 

“Everything good down here?” he asked. 

“Yep,” Cub replied, standing up from where he’d covered the dining table with papers once more. “How’s Mumbo?”

“Well, he took quite the fall, but he’s respawned just fine. There’s some bruising left over, but it was a quick death, so there aren’t too many aftereffects. He should be completely fine, come tomorrow morning, if he has a regen potion before bed.”

“What about you? You took quite the fall trying to catch him.”

Wels’ hand snuck up his arm, just a bit. “I’m fine. Did you get the supplies ready that I asked you to?”

Cub nodded. “Keralis finished them right before lunch.”

“What supplies?” Cleo asked, raising an eyebrow. Cub and Wels shared a look before the former spoke. 

“Well, I’m glad you asked. I’m going to the Shopping District this afternoon. Mumbo delayed me a bit, but I should get there by nightfall still if I go in the next hour.”

“What? Why in the world would you go to that place?”

Wels gave her a look, taking a shulker box Cub had indicated to him off the shelf and minimizing it until it disappeared into thin air. Cleo watched the motion in shock before remembering Keralis’ explanation of the inventory. Right.

“Just because they haven’t been the nicest doesn’t mean that Doc and everyone else there doesn’t deserve to know what’s going on. They’re good people and have the right to know about server mechanics and their lives.”

“They nearly killed me,” Cleo snapped, crossing her arms. “Tango and I would still be their prisoner if my friends hadn’t shown up.”

“ And I’ve known these people for years,” Wels replied, calm but steady as a rock. “I know how to get them to listen to me.” He paused, then looked at her. “I’ll be fine.”

Cleo didn’t say anything to that, simply levelling Wels with a low look. As much as he claimed to know who they were, Wels had yet to interact with Doc, Ethos, Symmie, or O. Who was to say that they were the same people they’d been back when he’d last seen them, or even three weeks ago? 

“Look,” Wels sighed, stretching his side with only a slight wince. “Why don’t you just come with me? Cleo blinked, and even Cub looked surprised, so the blond continued in his reasoning. “I’ll have someone watching my back and you’ll know why I have such faith in my friends. You’ve shown aptitude on the elytra; I can teach you the rest of the basics on the way.”

Part of Cleo wanted to tell the man to screw off. She’d been rather happy in the Snail with Tango, thank you very much, and had no desire to see the people who’s harmed her and her friend. 

“We have a deal,” she said instead. Screw it, she was curious about whatever plan Wels had going on in that head of his. And if she were honest, the idea of using the elytra again was an exhilarating thought, even if Mumbo’s fate tempered her attitude a bit.

Wels smiled at her before turning to Cub. “I assume you can hold down the fort while I’m gone.”

“Yeah, that won’t be a problem,” the elder man replied, arms still folded. “Are you sure about this, Wels? Cleo is right, they are violent, and—no offense to you Cleo, this goes for all of us—Cleo isn’t exactly equipped to help if things devolved.”

“No offense taken,” Cleo replied, knowing that he had a point. They would be outnumbered four to two, and their foes still were fully equipped in armor. 

“Trust me, I know what I’m doing,” Wels replied, more serious. “Doc and False are protective and cautious, but not murderous. Bdubs could hardly hurt a fly if he wanted to, and Etho’s probably just along for the ride.”

“Bdubs?” Cleo asked, raising an eyebrow.

“BDoubleO100? He must be going by a different nickname. The others are Docm77, FalseSymmetry, and Ethoslab.”

“That makes sense. BDoubleO100 is just O now. FalseSymmetry is Symmie.”

“O and Symmie, huh?” Wels said, softly as to himself. “Weird.”

“To be fair, you can get a lot out of BDoubleO100,” Cub chuckled. Wels smiled at him, nodding. 

“Well, it looks like we have a plan!” he announced, clapping his hands. “Get your things and meet me back here in twenty minutes, Cleo. Cub, let everyone know that we’ll be out and to expect us back the next day. I’ll keep you updated in chat best I can.”

Cleo’s heart thudded in her chest, though from excitement or nervousness she didn’t know. Then she remembered something, and it settled into dread.

Oh, shoot.

Tango was going to kill her for agreeing to go back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elytra lore pog!!
> 
> Thank you all so much for 20k! If you ever want to interact with me, I'm Pixelfun20 on Tumblr :)


	18. The First

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Screw it I'm finally finished with this chapter its title can wait for later. Did not beta much, just wanted to get this out. Might edit this later and regret publishing it so early but YOLO.
> 
> \--
> 
> Me, Jan 20, after writing the first 1.2k words for this fic and realizing my plans for this chapter would have it ending *way* too short: uh oh.
> 
> Me, three weeks later: Finally semi-finagles the plot to expand the chapter.

It took him four hours to find her.

Grian suspected that Onah or maybe even Exae had expected this result from him being given the mask, because no one came to ask why he was tearing apart the castle and not finishing up his work in the library.

That was probably a good thing, because Grian would likely do something he regretted if Exae demanded he forget about this and get back to work.

He finds Sefsa—Netty—on top of the northern spire, on the rooftop. It was a place impossible to reach without wings, so Grian grabbed some of the twine and metal bits stored in his shoe and removed one of the stained glass windows, setting it to the side and creeping out into the Deep End air.

It was thin, especially this high up. Grian had enough problems breathing End air regularly as it was; this high up, he was taking deep breaths without even exerting himself. 

He pushed that fact to the side though, focusing on Netty. She’d curled up a few feet away from the window, in a tiny crevice that rendered her almost invisible, thanks to her purple cloak blending with the purpur bricks. For the first time since he’d arrived, her mask was off, discarded to the side. It was clear that she’d been crying, eyes red and puffy, breaths shaky.

Those eyes were still the same shade of brown since he’d last seen her, though that was one of the few familiar things about her. She was thinner, and her previously dark brown hair was now silver, like a Watcher’s, all the way to the roots. Gone was the gray and pink-rimmed dress, the carefree smile.

“Exae will be angry if you don’t put your mask back on,” Netty said, turning away from him. As he watched, she was already settling back into what he realized was the persona of Sefsa, voice flat and emotionless.

“Considering I’ve been doing nothing but looking for you for the past few hours, I’m sure she won’t mind.” He replied. It was a precarious balancing act, but he slipped fully out of the window, toeing over the edge before sitting a foot or two away from her.

They sat there in silence. Netty did not look at him, but Grian found that he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her.

What had happened to Evo? Why was Netty even here? The Watchers were after natural-born admins, and though he had made Netty his assistant during Evo, promoting her to the status as a regular admin, her powers did not go nearly as far as one born with the gift of creating worlds. She wouldn’t be of much use to them. Grian could use Ryzens easier, could access world edit, admin codes, and a multitude of other things.

In all accounts he, or some other natural-born admin, was a much more valuable target. Why had they gone after Netty? Why take her in?

“It was because you knew me,” he said aloud. Netty still did not look at him, but shifted a bit, which gave Grian enough prompting to go on. “Exae took you because you knew me, didn’t they?”

There was a long silence. Then, Netty nodded quietly.

“It was four months after you disappeared,” she said, so softly Grian had to strain to hear her. “Maybe a little longer, when they came.”

Finally, Grian looked away, gazing upwards to the starry void above them. For the first time, he closed his eyes. The scene around him fell away, and for a moment he pretended he was in his ocean base, the one he’d spent so long working on in Evo. He could practically _hear_ the rushing water walls, the tickling of grass on his back and the constant hissing of mobs falling to their death from a grinder that worked too well for its own good.

Grian had been on his own for a lot of Evo. At the time, it’d been refreshing. Now, he regretted it.

He knew what happened to worlds the Watchers visited. He’d been to one, just one, and he’d never wanted it to happen again. 

He took a long breath, remembering that day for the first time in weeks. He’d stayed back with Exae, their hands tight on his shoulders and holding him back as he watched Macan slaughter the players inhabiting the world. Once it was over, once Macan’s cloak was stained red instead of purple, Exae had let him go.

 _“It is time you learn,”_ They’d said quietly, whispering into his ear. _“This is why I need you, my son, my Xelqua.”_

He didn’t like to think of what he’d done that day. He could still taste the ash on his tongue. 

“They destroyed Evo, didn’t they.”

Netty nodded. Grian let out a long breath.

There were questions that fact raised, for Watchers shouldn’t have the ability to destroy worlds without natural-born admins. But then again, maybe he was wrong. Maybe Ryzens could do it; they could access the depths of player code; why not a world’s?

 _Galactic versus Binary_ , part of him whispered. _Player versus World_. Grian shook the thought out of his head. That was a problem for later.

His friends were dead.

What was he supposed to do now?

“I don’t think they’re all gone,” Netty said suddenly, drawing Grian’s attention to her. “Zee made it out, for sure. And Solidarity.”

Grian just focused on keeping his breathing steady, his emotions under control. It probably wouldn’t be a good idea to broadcast his grief to the entire castle.

“Martyn?” He asked. Martyn had always been so kind, such a wonderful friend and later on, husband to Netty. He’d hardly seen them apart in the last few months. 

Netty shrugged. “We were separated in the initial attack. They took me away before I knew what happened to him.”

“I’m sorry. I know you loved each other.”

“I don’t know what happened to Taurtis, either.”

“That’s alright.”

“Is it?” She hiccuped. “Is it really?”

“What am I supposed to do?” He asked, turning his head back towards her. Netty met his gaze hesitantly. “Blame you?”

“Yes,” she said, quietly.

“Well, I’m not about to.”

“I brought you here.”

“Brought me back. It was only ever a matter of time, I think. If anything, you should blame me for running away and putting you in this situation in the first place.”

Netty broke away, looking out to the Void once more.

“Exae sure is kind, letting us have these few moments,” she said, bitterness seeping into her voice.

“I think they knew what was going to happen, once I got the mask. That’s why they waited so long. I would have acted very differently if I’d had recognized you on day one.”

“You would have just gotten yourself put right back in the bedrock prison.”

“And no one wants that.”

They fell silent once more, before Grian remembered something. 

“Netty,” he asked. “Why did Macan want to know where Mumbo was?”

“He was on the same server you were.”

Grian froze.

“Wait. So while I was gone, I was on Hermitcraft?!”

Netty’s lips quirked upwards. 

“You’re kidding.”

Her lips fell flat again. “It’s where the Ryzen took me, when I went to get you.”

Grian whistled. “Wowie.” He paused then, thinking. “...Hermitcraft wasn’t destroyed, was it?”

“...No. I was the only one to fetch you.” Netty replied. “It was supposed to be one of my final tests. They were unharmed, last I saw.”

Grian let out a breath, an unseen weight seemingly being lifted from his chest. XisumaVoid was smart, and knowledgeable enough when it came to the Watchers. They’d be fine, hopefully.

_Was Xisumavoid really so powerful, that even Ryzens could no longer find the server?_

He pushed the thought out of his head. It was probably best that he didn’t know. If Netty knew anything about it, she wasn’t mentioning it, and honestly that was a good idea, considering the Watcher’s track record. Best to keep the information to only one mind.

The two of them were silent for a while after that, watching the stars of the Void above them. It was the most peaceful Grian had felt since… since Evo, really. And he could think of Evo by name now, not just _then,_ because Exae knew about it and Netty’s existence anyways.

There wasn’t anything left to go back to, so there was no using trying to protect it.

“We need to get going,” Netty said after a time, even as she made no attempt to move. Grian grunted out an agreement, pulling himself into a sitting position. Standing up after a moment, he held out a hand to Netty, who took it. As she stood, her wings flared out a little bit behind her for balance.

They were beautiful, if a bit purple for her. The shade, like the change in her hair color, was probably an effect of the watchers.

“When did you get your wings?” He asked. Netty glanced away from him, leading the way off the roof and back through the window Grian had used to access the ledge.

“Shortly before I got you,” she replied, putting her mask back on.. “Not for very long.”

“I’ll show you some of the tricks I learned, if you like. Preening can be hell if you don’t know how to properly clean the feathers.” He was already starting to miss her eyes, but copied her movements, giving up his own sight for the perception of the Watchers.

Netty kept her gaze away from him as he followed her back into the castle, her eyes kept on the hallway to look for any eavesdroppers. 

“Do you miss them?” She asked abruptly. “Your wings?”

Grian paused at that. “...Yes, I miss being able to fly,” he decided on. “But no, I don’t regret cutting them. I can think of several good reasons past-me would do it.”

Netty shook her head, muttering something that Grian couldn’t decipher before moving on. Together, they walked down the hallway to the spiral staircase that connected the northern wing to the rest of the Castle. Once more they fell into silence, Grian trailing behind Netty a bit, just enough so that he could still sense her blue-skies-and-green-trees presence. 

They reached the bottom and nearly collided with Exae. 

Despite himself, Grian flared in surprise before locking himself down. Netty did the same, and she must have been better at it than him, because even her blue-skies-and-green-trees shuddered into something much more wintery.

Netty dropped into a salute, Grian following, as Exae regarded them silently.

“I see brother and sister have finally met,” they said softly. “I’m so glad you two have had time to bond once more.” Exae turned around, walking back down the hallway. “Come.”

A flicker of nervousness flared in his chest, but Grian squashed it quickly, idly turning his thoughts towards a curiosity as to what they were doing. 

“I am afraid I have kept things from you, ᒲ|| ᓵ⍑╎ꖎ↸∷ᒷリ,” they said, descending further down, down past the ground floor and through a side hallway. Grian watched in awe, memorizing the route as he went. He didn’t even know the Northern wing _went_ this far down, and from the flickers of surprise coming off of Netty, she didn’t either.

The light dimmed as they descended into the endstone earth, the endstone bricks and purpur fading into a delicate pattern of bedrock and obsidian the lower they went. Grian was reminded of the bedrock boxes in the lower floors of the Western wing, where he’d been kept back when he’d first returned. Was this something similar? But why have two prison sections?

The hallway they soon entered felt dark, even with the torches on the wall. The walls seemed as if they were closing them in, far underground and ever closer to the Void beneath them—

Exae’s mind flickered against his own, the equivalent of a sharp look, and Grian hurried to dispel his nervousness, trying to copy Netty’s silence. As they continued down the hallway, the bedrock bagan to outnumber the obsidian, torches still placed lightly, every few meters, even though every member of the party was masked and didn’t need the light to see.

There was a single iron door, partway through the hallway, on the right side. Exae passed it by, but Grian’s eyes lingered on it for an extra moment. The tiny windows iron doors usually had were covered up this time around with a black substance he didn’t have time to identify before his eyes were slipping past it and returning to their place in front of him.

Huh. He’d think about that later. 

They continued on, until the hallway came to an abrupt end. Exae said nothing, simply holding out their hands in a silent invitation. Grian and Netty stepped forwards, and then there was a firm grip on Grian’s right shoulder, pulling him into the bedrock. He didn’t fight it, instead closing his eyes as the code-deep sting of ice cold struck through the very center of his being, the hand on his shoulder his only anchor, pulling him forwards.

As soon as it started, it was over. He, Netty, and Exae had passed through the layer of bedrock, and were now in a room. It had no entrance or exit, the walls, floor, and ceiling bedrock with the occasional bit of obsidian. There were few decorations, but some unfamiliar items sat on a shelf in the back of the room.

Exae beckoned them to wait, moving forwards with their hair billowing out around them. They picked up one of the objects in their hands, cupping it gently before setting it on the ground. Grian examined it more closely. Unlike the usual inanimate object, this sphere felt… different, in a way that tugged in the pit of his stomach but he couldn’t put into words.

“Xelqua, ᒲ|| ᓭ𝙹リ, ||𝙹⚍ ∴ᒷ∷ᒷ リ𝙹ℸ ̣ ℸ ̣ ⍑ᒷ ⎓╎∷ᓭℸ ̣,” Exae said, returning to their full height. “No…”

They waved their hand, and where the object had been, another person appeared in the room. Despite himself, Grian jerked back in surprise, and even Netty flinched a little. The player, though, felt… calm. Like the starry night sky of the Void he’d studied only a few minutes ago, this person’s presence was steady and firm, yet… light as well.

“Don’t let your minds deceive you,” Exae said, snapping Grian out of his surprise. They waved their hand, and where he would have expected it to make contact with the player, it passed right through. “This is an Altera. You will be using it soon enough.” They paused for a moment, letting the words sink in, before continuing. “This player, whose presence the Altera is displaying, is Xisuma. Recently—” and even Grian felt the flicker of guilt and fear from Netty. “It has been brought to our attention that Xisuma is not permadead, but living in the server Hermitcraft.”

“Whatever you wish us to do, we will gladly,” Grian said, trying to alleviate the flickers that were coming off of Netty more and more frequently. 

“Good.” Exae walked around the Altera and Xisuma’s projection. “Remember this player, Xelqua. He will be your task in the upcoming days.” Their attention shifted to Netty, voice turning… almost sad. “Sefsa, you and I will be meeting soon. Hermitcraft must be found.”

“Yes, Exae,” Netty whispered.

Exae’s focus flickered between the two of them as they straightened, before finally settling on Grian. They sighed, almost like a tired parent, and threaded their fingers through Grian’s hair. 

“ ̇/╎ᓭ⚍ᒲᔑ ∴╎ꖎꖎ ∷ᒷℸ ̣ ⚍∷リ ⍑𝙹ᒲᒷ, ᒲ|| ᓭ𝙹リ, ʖ⚍ℸ ̣ ∷ᒷᒲᒷᒲʖᒷ∷ ℸ ̣ ⍑ᔑℸ ̣ ||𝙹⚍ ∴╎ꖎꖎ ʖᒷ ℸ ̣ ⍑ᒷ ʖᒷᓭℸ ̣ 𝙹⎓ ⚍ᓭ ᔑꖎꖎ, ╎⎓ 𝙹リꖎ|| ||𝙹⚍ ꖎᒷᔑ∷リ ℸ ̣ 𝙹 𝙹ʖᒷ||.”

Their hand left his head, and Grian nodded.

“As you say,” he said, and that was the end of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Figured out the chapter name! :D


End file.
